


Phoning it In

by tisfan



Series: Imagine Tony and Bucky 2018 [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Peggy Carter, Bucky is not a Winter Soldier, Call Me Maybe, Client Tony Stark, Clint/Steve background if you squint, Condoms, Hand Jobs, Identity Porn, Iron Man is the Only Super Hero, M/M, Netflix and Chill, Oral Sex, Panic Attacks, Phone Sex, Rubbing Off, Sex Worker Bucky Barnes, Sexual Harassment, booth babes, phone sex operator
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-27
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2019-03-25 16:59:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13839123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tisfan/pseuds/tisfan
Summary: Bucky works a phone sex line to pay the bills... and one night, he gets a call from someone wanting to be called Iron Man...





	1. Incoming Call

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eriot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eriot/gifts).



> Thank you for the blog and all your hard work! prompt: Tony or Bucky (I don't care) is a sex-cam worker (the other can be a friend, a client, a 'collegue'... whatever suits you better) xxxx

Bucky glanced at his computer. _Incoming Call…_

Gradually, the caller’s information populated the fields. _Male caller, looking for male or female companion._

Companion. Bucky’s finger hovered over the button. He was tired. One of his regulars had kept him on the phone for almost forty minutes, which was great, it was really great. Bucky got 80 cents a minute, but he also had econ homework. And a powerful need to sleep.

The call kept blinking. No one else was picking it up, either.

“Fine, _fine_ ,” Bucky said to his room. He pulled his headset on, leaned back against the pillows, and thumbed open the connection. “Well, hello there,” Bucky said, using his bedroom voice, the gravely sort of fuck-me-now tones that had him drinking a shitton of lemon-honey stuff one of his operators called Gollum juice. “And what can I call you tonight?”

“Uh,” the man on the other end of the phone said, “Yeah, no, um. You can call me Iron Man.”

Bucky didn’t bother to roll his eyes. He’d heard just about everything at this point. And everyone had seen Tony Stark go live on National Television to confess to being Iron Man. Yeah, Bucky was talking to _Tony Stark_ , like hell. Whatever. If he was paying, Bucky’d say whatever he wanted. “Well, Iron Man, you can call me Jamie. Did you have any particular _needs_ in mind tonight?”

“Jamie, huh,” Iron Man said. “I must say, I wasn’t actually expecting a guy to answer the phone--”

“Did you want a girl, Iron Man? I can have the operators transfer you.” Bucky didn’t quite sigh into his mic. He eyeballed the call time -- twenty-five seconds. If he didn’t keep the caller on line for at least two minutes, he didn’t get paid for taking the call.

“No, no, that’s okay, I like men, I just didn’t… you know, phone sex operator, I didn’t know guys did that. It was an option on the menu, though, so, yeah, I just selected it. You sound… you sound nice.”

“Well, nice isn’t always what people say about me, little bit naughty, really…”

“Yeah, you’re cute. What are you wearing, Jamie?”

Sweatpants with a hole in one knee and the string was worn out so when he walked around, he had to hold up with waistband. It was easier that way, if he got someone actually articulate, who could get him interested in the damn job, to wank off if he didn’t actually have to unbutton and unzip and wriggle around. “Blue chinos, a white, v-necked cotton tee, and a one-button jacket. I took my shoes off already, so I could lay down in bed.” Technically, Bucky did _own_ all those clothes, for when he wanted to go clubbing, but he hadn’t actually had a night off in weeks. Between trying to finish grad school, doing his job to pay for someplace to _live_ while he went to grad school, and his few social obligations, he hadn’t gone out out in a while. “I’m guessing you’re wearing a suit of armor, huh, Iron Man? Gold alloy and hot-rod red? I’ve seen it. Pretty sexy beast, there.”

“Actually, I’m flying casual tonight,” Iron Man said. “Just me, jeans, and a Duran Duran tee.”

“I can help you out of those, if you want,” Bucky told him, a deep purr. He was pretty sure the guy wasn’t Stark, but he could do with it for visualization.

“Do you?”

“Do I what, baby?”

“Actually want to?”

Oh, god. Bucky rolled his eyes back in his head. Some callers were like that; they wanted to be reassured that they were hot and desirable and that Bucky wasn’t just punching a clock somewhere. Which was annoying as shit because most of the time, that’s exactly what Bucky was doing. _Just go with the illusion of desire, dude,_ Bucky thought. “There are a lot of jobs out there, Iron Man,” Bucky said, eyeing his call time. He was over the golden two minutes, so now he was ringing up the dollars. Anything after this was all gravy. And maybe Iron Man would talk himself into hanging up, and Bucky could get on that econ homework. “I wouldn’t do this one if I didn’t enjoy it.”

“What do you enjoy about it?”

What is this, thirty questions? Bucky’s finger hovered over the operator button; he could disconnect and tell Darcy that the guy was being creepy, which wasn’t exactly true, but that’s what the operators were for, getting Bucky out of calls he didn’t want to take.

“I like hearing about people’s fantasies,” Bucky said, which was true, sometimes. Sometimes he was outright horrified by the things people asked for. “I’m here to listen to you, give you something fun for your time. I can talk you through all your darkest desires, or I can listen while you rehash your latest argument with your boss. I’m more than just a sexy voice, I can be your friend.”

Iron Man chuckled. “Yeah? You wanna be _my friend_?”

“Do you need one? I can be a friend to you. It’s cheaper than therapy.”

“Okay, pal,” Iron Man said. “Talk me through it. I’ve never done this before.”

“Called a sex worker, or had phone sex?” Bucky rolled over and kicked his feet up, tucking a pillow under his chest. Now they were getting somewhere.

“Yes, both, either,” Iron Man said. “How’s this work?”

“Well, you can start by telling me what you like. You want to think about what I look like, get an image in your head of me, or do you want to put the guy down in marketing that you’re crushing on in my role? I can be him for you, baby, if you want, or I can just be me. You want me on my knees, unzipping you for a quickie in the bar, or do you want the full candle light and silk sheets experience. Tell me what you want, and I’m happy to set you a scene, anything you like,” Bucky said.

“Tell me what you look like, and what you’re actually wearing,” Iron Man suggested. “And then I’ll decide what I want to do with you.”

Bucky actually laughed, a real laugh and not the cultivated sexy sound of amusement he’d practiced. “Truth? I’m wearing my Mandalorian sweats that I got from my sister a few years back as a Christmas present.”

“ _Star Wars_ nerd?” Iron Man was obviously a nerd, too, since Boba Fett’s cultural beginnings were not common knowledge for most casual fans.

“I ain’t really particular about my brand of nerdity. _Star Wars, Star Trek, Firefly, Babylon 5,_ it’s all good.”

“Huh,” Iron Man said. “If I was to propose marriage right now, would you accept?”

“It’s not likely,” Bucky told him. “But I’m more tempted to pull my pants down than I was a few minutes ago.”

“And we’re back to the sexy operator,” Iron Man said, and Bucky wasn’t sure that there wasn’t disappointment in the man’s voice.

“Well, you did call me,” Bucky pointed out, “but if you want, I can call you a scoundrel and a scruffy nerf herder while I slide your jeans off.”

“Hnnng,” Iron Man said. “You are attached to your job, aren’t you?”

“Eh,” Bucky said. “It’s important.”

“Sex phone line?”

“Talking about sex,” Bucky said. “We’re all so hung up on Hollywood ideals that we don’t talk about sex, especially not with the people we _should_ , you know, your actual partners. We’re weird and closed off and we have no idea what’s normal or acceptable, and we’re tense and uptight. Talking to me about sex is a lot of people’s only outlet. I don’t judge. You want to rub one out while I nerd out about the destructive capacity of the Death Star, that’s great. Humor me for a minute, huh? Tell me one fantasy. One sexy thing that you want to do that you’ve never done.”

“I always kinda wanted to do one of those old-timey masquerade balls, you know,” Iron Man said. “Pretend to be someone else for a while. Get my flirt on with someone who’s got no idea who I am, just for one night. Have sex with a perfect stranger who only wants me for that one night. I feel like, I feel like sometimes my whole life is on display for everyone around me, I’d just like to do something that no one knows about.”

“Nobody knows about this,” Bucky said.

That wasn’t precisely true, but the operators only had access to their direct reports and the information the computer gave them, which didn’t include any of their credit information. Phone Sex companies took privacy seriously -- both the client’s and the operators. Which didn’t mean that Bucky hadn’t been badgered a few times for personal information or to meet up in public, and Bucky knew a few of his colleagues who had done that sort of thing with their regulars, but Bucky’d never even been tempted to share details with anyone.

Except that he had, hadn’t he? _Star Wars_ and his sister’s present, and… huh. Just little details, nothing that Iron Man could use to find him.

“No, I guess not,” Iron Man said. “So, _stranger_ , what would you do, if we were at a masquerade together?”

“Back your ass into the nearest broom closet,” Bucky said. He was kinda getting into it, a little heat pooling in his belly. “Can’t reach your mouth, your mask’s in the way, and you don’t want me to know who you are, so I guess I’ll have to kiss other parts. Your neck. Just along the jawline. Rip that shirt open and bite your collarbone. Tell me, what do you want from a stranger in the dark? Your hands on me? Slide down my back and cup my ass. I’ve got good thighs, raise one leg up and drape it over your hip; you’ve got me pushed against the door now. You wanna grind against me? We can hear the music, it’s fuzzy through the door, and people talking, and we’re so close to other people, you can see the shadows on the floor when they move, but no one knows we’re in here, do they, baby?”

“No, they don’t,” Iron Man said, and Bucky could tell that he’d finally hooked the man. “And you know I’m going to try to make you scream, even though it means we could get caught, just because it’s fun.”

“Can you make me scream?” Bucky wondered.

“It’s my fantasy,” Iron Man said, “so, yeah, I want to watch you biting your arm while I touch and tease all down your skin, driving you crazy, and you want to yell, you do, I can just see it, you’re all sweaty and hot and holding your shirt up with one hand, panting for breath, while I take your cock in my hand and stroke you, so, so slow. Lemme see what you got for me, Jaime.”

Bucky was absently humping against his bed, feeling the slick comforter under his sweats, the way it rolled over his dick. “Oh, I got something for you,” he told Iron Man. “I got eight and a half inches for you.”

“Are you for serious, right now?” Iron Man’s voice shot up, incredulous. “I mean, I guess you’re supposed to say something like that, but--”

“No, I’m serious,” Bucky told him. “I’m a handful.”

“I just bet you are,” Iron Man. “Huh, like to get my mouth on _that_. Okay, so I’m gonna do that, tip my mask back, you still can’t really see me because the closet is dark, but yeah, I’m going to get me a taste of that.”

“You can have all you want,” Bucky told him. “Gonna put my hands in your hair sweetie, just enough to have a good grip.”

“You know, I’m not used to being able to talk while I’m swallowing someone’s dick, but I always kinda want to -- rude to talk with your mouth full, I know that -- but god, I love it so much. Love the way your dick feels, the weight of it on my tongue, the way my lips get all tingly, it’s like hard core awesome.”

Bucky was stropping himself against the bed, hard as a rock now. “Yeah? Glad t’be of service, then, because damn, I love gettin’ blown, honey. It’s so good, your mouth is so damn wet and you’ve got that slippery tongue in there.” He was dripping, a wet patch forming around the head of his cock. “Come on, touch yourself, want you to stroke it while you’re on your knees for me, that’s so pretty, it’s so unbelievably hot.”

“Oh, you like that, you want to be all bossy like that?” Iron Man said, and he was breathing harder now. There was a sound, a familiar sound, in the background, and in the way his voice shuddered.

“You know I would,” Bucky told him. “Love to feel your mouth on me, and knowing that you’re getting off on it? Oh, god.”

“I’m going to take you straight down my throat, until I can hardly breathe, my eyes watering, and when you come, I’m gonna pull off and let you mark me, all over that stupid mask,” Iron Man told him, and there was a catch in his voice, just a little, and the thought -- Bucky knew what Iron Man’s mask looked like, everybody did -- of that mask covered in Bucky’s come…

“Oh, god,” Bucky managed and he spilled, hot and wet and messy all over the inside of his sweats and he couldn’t even feel disgusted with himself for forgetting to get a tissue down there because it just felt _so damn good_. “That’s… woah, that’s…”

Iron Man was breathing hard in Bucky’s ear.

“Yeah, you stroke it, baby,” Bucky told him. “You come on and give it to me. Here, lemme give you a hand with that. My come’s drippin’ off that mask an’ I don’t even care, gonna get down there with you and put a hand on you, help you along, rub my thumb right over the crown. You shaking for me, darlin’?”

“Yes,” Iron Man said, “desperate for you, want you to touch me.”

“I gotcha, honey,” Bucky said. “I got you.”

And that was all it took for the man. He let out a soft, obscene little sigh that went straight to the balls of Bucky’s feel, got a twitch out of his overstimulated and softening dick.

“Okay, yeah, okay,” Iron Man said. “That’s a… that’s a thing that happened.”

“Yeah, you’re okay, baby,” Bucky said. “You’re good.”

“You are excellent,” Iron Man shot back. “Do… I don’t know. Do you…”

“You want to be able to call me back?” Bucky rolled over, grimacing at the sticky feel, but no sense getting his bed all messy. He didn’t want to do laundry tonight, even if that damn homework was going to keep him awake until three, at least. “I’ve got a code, you can use it.”

“That’ll get me to you?”

“You give it to the operator when you call in, she’ll let you know if I’m working,” Bucky said. “And then if I’m not available --” for whatever reason, sometimes he’d be on another call, or something he’d be in class, the operator would never tell “-- you can decide if you want a new person, or you can try me later.”

“What’s the code?”

Bucky hadn’t given it out often, he had two regulars, and the one guy had gotten the code from him months ago, so he had to sit up (yucccck, wet pants) and dig around in his desk for it. “Got a pen?”

“Don’t need one, just go,” Iron Man said.

Bucky rolled his eyes. He wouldn’t be hearing from the guy again. “It’s 32557038.”

“Three two five five seven oh three eight,” Iron Man repeated back. Okay, so maybe Bucky would hear from him again. “Do me a favor?”

“Sure?”

“Just say ‘goodnight, Tony,’” Iron Man said. “I just… want to hear you say it.”

“Goodnight, Tony.”

“Good night, honey,” Tony said. After a moment, the headphone went silent in his ear.

Bucky got up, stepped out of his despoiled sweats and tossed them in the hamper. He tugged on his jeans -- ug. He was going to have to do laundry. Doing homework in his jeans was just not going to be fun at all. Checked his computer -- thirty eight minutes. Not too bad.

_Incoming call._

Bucky scowled. He’d put aside an hour to work, and he really needed to get his econ done, but… well, he could start the laundry while he talked, at least. He should have logged off as soon as he disconnected with Iron Man, but he hadn’t been thinking too clearly.

Deep breath. Got his headphones back in. “Well, good evening,” he said. “How might I be of service, tonight?”

“Hey, Jamie,” and it was Tony again. “I just wanted to check, make sure this worked.”

Bucky couldn’t help a rueful smile. “Yeah, this is me, hey Tony,” he said. “I was just getting ready to do some laundry, you caught me at a good time.”

“Laundry, really?” Tony sounded delighted, like he knew what that meant. “Okay. I um… I don’t want to take up your time unnecessarily, and I’m sure there’s some rules about this kinda thing. How long do you need me to stay on the call?”

Bucky blinked. That was thoughtful. “As long as I’m talking to you, it’s a good time for me, honey.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay, you’re humoring me, I can tell. Five minutes? I don’t want to go another round, some of us are old,” Tony said. “You can just put the phone down while you do your wash, and I’ll hang up when the clock rolls over. Tip for you putting up with my emotional neediness.”

“Two minutes,” Bucky admitted. “I get paid after two minutes. And then eighty cents per minute, after that.”

“Wow, your company takes almost half?”

“It’s their equipment,” Bucky said, “and they protect their operators’ privacy, and do all the advertising. It’s a good deal for me.”

“Okay, so you go do your thing, and I’ll leave you a tip.”

“Hey, Tony?”

“Yeah?”

“If you just need to talk, like to a friend, talk, I can do that, too,” Bucky said.

“Yeah, not this time, sunshine,” Tony said. “Put the phone down, I’ll call you later.”

“Okay. Goodnight, Tony,” Bucky said. He sat his headset on his desk and packed up his laundry. Dug some quarters out of the desk drawer and grabbed his econ books. He could do homework from the laundry room as easily as in his dorm, and then he didn’t have to worry about someone stealing all his socks. (That had totally happened. Just his socks. It was creepy.)

When he came back, over two hours later, he checked his work computer.

 _Last call: 93 minutes_.


	2. Star Sixty-Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky and "Iron Man" have been talking on the phone for a few months now... 
> 
> But Iron Man is only a client, and Tony isn't real...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... uh... this happened.
> 
> Warning: this chapter kinda ends on a cliff hanger, but don't worry. I'm totally planning to write another chapter and I'll probably have it up in the next 2 weeks or so...

_Incoming Call…_

_Male caller. 32557038-IM_

“Tony!” Bucky had barely gotten his headphones on when he was pushing to accept the call. “Hey, doll, I was hoping to hear from you.”

It wasn’t even a lie; Bucky’s other regular caller, Brock, had called three times that week and Bucky was starting to feel like he wanted a shower, every single time. Bucky’d spoken with Darcy about it -- she’d agreed to limit Brock’s calls down to one per week -- and then joined one of the various wank-and-spank chat channels on the company’s website to complain.

Nat, one of the other operators, had given him some good advice for how to cut the cord, because regulars could be like that; they got attached, and then they could make things hard on everyone. Nat had a regular for a while who ended up going through like five different credit cards and hundreds of dollars of calls trying to find his way back to her before they managed to cut him off.

But Tony… yeah, Tony was someone Bucky _liked_ to hear from.

“Jamie, hey there,” Tony said. “Aw, did you miss me? How’d that chemistry exam go?”

Jeez, that was almost three weeks ago. Admittedly, Tony hadn’t called in a while. “I did miss you,” Bucky said. “Test went okay. Got a B minus, but some bonus points in the lab for staying late to clean up after the whole damn football team left for an emergency practice about five minutes before the bell.” Bucky’d been seething about that for a while; damn jocks getting away with everything.

“Yeah, well, good job,” Tony said. “Your football team, it’s good or it sucks?”

“I think we’re okay,” Bucky said. Not like he went to the games most of the time. If he had to pick a sport, he usually enjoyed basketball. Football was a lot of standing around in between watching people deliberately give themselves brain damage. “So, where you been?”

“I had a thing,” Tony said. “Followed by another thing, followed by what my friend is calling a bad case of the whiny-man-flu, and then I had to spend a week playing catch up for daring to take three days off. Didn’t think it’d be all that sexy for me to spend an hour coughing in your ear, and I didn’t have any other spare, private time that I wasn’t sleeping, sobbing, or trying to drown myself in a vente latte.”

“You know, you can call me whenever,” Bucky said, which was probably against all sorts of rules: not just the company’s rules, but practical rules of How to Not End Up with a Stalker 101. “I used to read to a friend of mine, growin’ up, whenever he was sick.”

“Your friend, the artist?”

“That’d be the one,” Bucky said. He really needed to be more careful about what he said. Tony was sneaking little details out of him all the time; his friends, the classes he was taking, favorite movies, just little snippets here and there, but either Tony was a serial killer and had a little notebook made of human skin where he was recording all the details, or he was actually interested in Bucky’s stupid life. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to be worried about that, but more often than not, Bucky was just happy.

“I’ll keep it in mind, but frankly, I’d just rather not be sick. It’s a waste of time, and then there’s your friend nagging you about going to the hospital, because what if it’s broken ribs, and like, I would think I would know that, don’t you think you would know that--”

“You broke your ribs, coughing too much?” Bucky was horrified. “Tony--”

“Don’t even start with me, Jenny-I-got-your-number,” Tony said. “I heard enough of it already. Tell me what you’re wearing.”

“Actually, I’m still in my suit, I had a job interview today,” Bucky said.

“I thought you were in school?”

“Internship thing,” Bucky said. “It’s almost summer and I need to pad out the resume for when I actually go job hunting. This pays the bills well enough, but I don’t think any Fortune 500 company’s going to want a phone sex operator on the books.”

“That’s narrow-minded of them,” Tony said.

“I’m pretty sure Hammer industries doesn’t have a monopoly on close-minded, straight, white guys,” Bucky said. It was both true, and a little bit of a poke. Bucky wasn’t the only one who gave out personal bits of information, although Tony seemed to have put more effort into it; his stuff was all personal bits and pieces from Tony Stark’s life. Although really, anyone could do that; Bucky had verified all the shit Tony said on the damn internet, so… it was taking role play a little far, but hey, Bucky knew all about not wanting to be an extra in your own life.

“You know, Hammer’s a copy-cat, not an innovator?”

“You know they still have an accounting department that needs interns, right? As long as they’re not being creative with the books, I do not care in the slightest.” Well, that was partly true. Sam, one of his classmates, had ended up taking an internship where he’d been asked to do some really shady things, and Sam was still suffering from the fallout of refusing to backdate some business transactions with a bank that would have been a felony if he’d been investigated. The chances of an insurance firm of that magnitude being investigated was small, but Sam’s name on the falsified contract?

Yeah, so, Bucky was worried. A little. Companies didn’t feel any need to protect the little guy, and would steamroller them. Hammer didn’t have a great reputation, either, but Bucky was also pretty sure that his job as an intern there wouldn’t be much more than getting coffee and donuts for the real movers and shakers, and sometimes doing spreadsheet data entry because an intern was cheaper than a temp.

Tony made a humming noise in his throat that sounded rather disapproving. Bucky waited to see if this would finally be the moment where Tony either promised something he couldn’t deliver (come, work at Stark Industries) or finally admitted to not being Tony Stark. Bucky wasn’t entirely sure that he wanted to know, though.

“Don’t worry about it, babe,” Bucky said, before Tony could protest. “It’s just a summer internship. It’ll be fine. I’ll still have time to talk to you in the evenings.”

“Right,” Tony said. “So, you’re in a suit, huh? What can I do to convince you to take it off?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Bucky said, coy, a smile tugging up the side of his mouth. “Why don’t you take it off me? Like I’m your very own welcome home present?”

“I’m gonna grab hold of your tie and yank you in for a kiss,” Tony told him.

“Yeah?” Bucky asked, his eyebrow going up. “You like manhandling me? Think that tie gives you a good grip?”

“Hey, ties are good for a _lot_ of things,” Tony said.

A jolt of heat went right down Bucky’s spine. “Really?” Bucky drawled. He could just visualize; at first, with Tony stretched out, bound to the bedposts with silk ropes, and then Bucky went even hotter, thinking about himself, wrists tied behind his back. “Yeah, I can think of a few things they’re good for, too. Z’at something you’d like to try? Wanna tie me up?”

Tony drew a great, shuddering breath. “Yeah,” he said, voice hoarse with sudden wanting. “Yeah, I’d like that. Love that visual right there.”

“Put me on my knees, hands behind my back?” Bucky suggested.

“Still dressed in that suit of yours, want to unbutton your buttons and tug your pants down til they’re holding your thighs in place, seeing all of you, but still, want you to look---”

“Wrecked and ruined,” Bucky filled in. “Yeah, I can get into that. Belt around my ankles, tie around my wrists, then you can fuck my mouth.”

“Love to watch that,” Tony said, “your pretty mouth open and your chin all slick with spit, and the way you just _take_ it.”

“You never _gotta_ hold me down, but I love it when you do,” Bucky told him, and that was completely true. Well, in theory. He’d never actually had a lover that he trusted enough to stop when he said stop, and he’d had more than a few that he didn’t even trust that far, so yeah, hadn’t really gone anywhere with the bondage, but he liked to watch it, when he watched porn, liked to imagine it. “Want you t’ just push pleasure on me, when I can’t do anything about it but take it. I get what you give me, an’ only that much.”

Tony was breathing harder, and -- yeah, Bucky was getting really used to the way Tony sounded when he jerked it. Bucky tugged at his tie, loosening it. He didn’t really like to untie it all the way; ties weren’t a thing he wore very often and it took him way too long to get the knot right, so just leaving it pre-knotted was a thing that he did.

“I’m sorry, what?” Damnit, he missed something.

Tony huffed out a laugh. “Am I losing your attention, Jamie?” Tony didn’t quite sound hurt, not yet.

“No way,” Bucky told him. He popped the first few buttons on his shirt. “Just getting undressed an’ you were talkin’ an’--”

“You were? _Really_? Slow down, we can come back to the fantasy light bondage later, I wanna listen to you undress for me,” Tony told him.

Bucky was pretty sure that Tony never actually believed him, but there wasn’t anything Bucky could do about that. “Well, I ain’t puttin’ it back on just to take it off for ya, dollface,” Bucky said. “Already got the damn tie off and I hate that thing. Jacket came off as soon as I got in my apartment. And I kicked off my shoes. Then I decided to flop on my bed and feel overwhelmed by adulthood for a while. Then you called.”

“Go on,” Tony told him. “Take the shirt off.”

Bucky finished unbuttoning his shirt. “Stupid cufflinks,” he said. “What the hell does anyone need a french cuff for anyway?”

“Oh, I don’t know, I always kinda liked cufflinks, myself,” Tony said. “It’s like a watch, an excuse for a man to wear jewelry.”

“I always wear jewelry,” Bucky said. “Got two piercings and I almost always have an anklet on.”

“Where are your piercings?”

“I’ve got a tragus in my left ear and an industrial in my right,” Bucky told him, “but they have to come out for fancy shit like job interviews. Been thinking about getting a nipple pierced, but my friend Nat says that hurts like hell, and she’s the toughest person I know, so you know, there’s that.”

“Fancy,” Tony said. “What do you wear around your ankle?”

Bucky actually blushed. “Okay, like… don’t be mad, okay?”

“Huh? What, why--”

“It was kinda a joke,” Bucky said. “I told a friend that Iron Man was calling me, an’… well, Steve is Steve, so he bought me an arc-reactor charm.”

“And you’re _wearing_ it? _Now_?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said. “I mean, Steve, he thinks it’s a joke, and if I didn’t wear it, he’d probably bury me in Iron Man paraphernalia.” Bucky wasn’t about to admit that he already had some. Not too much. Not enough to be weird and creepy, and if he was wearing a few more tees that matched the Iron Man color scheme, his friends hadn’t said anything about it. Not too much, because licensed merch was expensive, and Bucky only had so much cash to go around. Especially if he ended up taking the damned Hammer internship that summer.

“Do you wear it to bed?”

“That an’ nothin’ else,” Bucky said, which was nothing but the truth. Even his piercings came out for sleep, most of the time. His hair was thick and prone to tangles, and he’d gotten a damn knot around that industrial piercing once and he’d rather not do that again, thank you!

“Jesus, Jamie,” Tony said, and then he inhaled again, and--

_Oh wow._

Tony just came; Bucky knew the way his breath stuttered and caught. He practically had the sound memorized.

Okay, so maybe Bucky was a _little_ obsessed.

“Tony.” Bucky worked on remembering how to breathe.

“Eh, don’t sweat it,” Tony said, his voice still husky. “Some of us are old. And I haven’t been able to call you in a while.” He sounded almost embarrassed.

“Wow, no, that was… _wow_.” Bucky palmed his dick through the front panel of his overpriced trousers. There was a little bit of smugness going on there, his mouth kept twitching up into a grin. “Honestly, I’d love t’ see that. You all messy and sated. Would love to know that I’m responsible for putting that dopey smile on your face. Wanna lick every bit of you clean and see if you might be interested in a second round.”

“Reference point number one,” Tony said. “Some of us are old men. But if you were here, I would get on all fours for you and let you plow me right into the mattress.”

Bucky unzipped and threw himself back in his chair, getting his cock out and pulling his undershirt up around his armpits. “Uh-huh,” he said, which really was just poor planning on his part, but honestly, if Tony was going to be that way, Bucky was actually considering getting a damn Iron Man tattoo. “Okay, yeah, you get comfy, babe. Bunch them pillows up, so you got something to push against. I’m gonna lube you up an’ open you up nice and slow.”

Tony made this unbelievable little noise, a squeaky moan, and Bucky was going to up and fucking _die_ , he really was.

“Why in God’s name aren’t you a cam-boy?” Tony asked, voice spiraling up. “I would really love to see you stroking yourself off while you’re thinking about me.”

“Didn’t want to have to clean my room,” Bucky said. Which was partially the truth. The rest of it was he didn’t want screen caps of his dick to end up all over the internet, either. He did, eventually, have to work for a living.

“Oh, is that all,” Tony drolled. “Because you know, I could care less how clean your sheets are, I just want to see. Want to see your face.”

Yeah, that was one of the _other_ reasons. Right now, Bucky was still living in his little fantasy world where his Tony was actually Iron Man. He knew that face, knew that visual and-- he curled his hand around his dick and pumped up through his fist a few times. Lube would be better, but really, he didn’t care right now. “Yeah, would you let me see your face, or would I be jerkin’ it to that sexy beast of a mask?”

“Well, it’s not really designed for long term wear,” Tony said, flippant. “Besides, why would I wear the mask, you already see underneath it. If you were here, you could jerk it right into my face, if you wanted to.”

Oh, christ, oh, god… “ _Tony_!” Bucky arched up from the chair, lightening jolting through his spine. “Oh, my gooood.”

“That’s my good boy,” Tony was crooning in his ear, and Bucky was coming, and… god, it was sweet, Tony was so sweet, and Bucky…

… collapsed back into his chair, panting for breath. “You’re my favorite,” Bucky slurred, high on his orgasm and silly with it.

“Of course I am, honey,” Tony said. “Not like you’re wearing someone else’s heart on your ankle. Look, I’m gonna go get cleaned up. Why don’t you put the phone down for a while so I can give you your tip.”

Bucky smiled. “Or maybe I’ll just keep th’ phone right here an’ listen to you fall asleep.”

***

“You are getting dangerously obsessed, Barnes,” Nat told him. “You’re too attached to this guy. He’s a client, you need to treat him like a client.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. He didn’t know very many of his fellow operators in person, but Nat had been the one to get him the job, and they’d been friends for a few years before that, too. So sometimes they still got together and did the coffee and biscotti thing.

“I’m not obsessed,” he protested.

Nat took a sip of her tea, eyeing him over the rim of her mug. “It might be more true to say you’re obsessed with the _idea_ of him. You don’t know who he really is.”

“He’s Tony,” Bucky said with a shrug. He was pretty sure, at least, that Tony was the guy’s real name. Or he had taken leave of his senses and was projecting way too far. Which Bucky supposed was possible, but it didn’t feel like that. Of course, the fact that it felt any way at all was probably a sign that Nat was right.

“He’s a client,” Nat said, again. “You’re talking about him like he’s your boyfriend. You don’t even know what he looks like. This isn’t healthy. You need to go on some real dates. See some real people, and have some real sex. You’re forgetting what’s part of your job, and what’s part of your reality. You’re selling him a fantasy. He doesn’t care about you. Not the real you.”

Bucky wanted to scowl, but didn’t. He also didn’t agree. Tony did _care_ , he asked questions, remembered things Bucky said, he…

Well, maybe they were both a little obsessed.

But what the hell was wrong with that? People fell in love with their co-workers, they fell in love with their baristas. Waitresses dated bartenders. It was all good, right?

_If you’re thinking he loves you, you might want to knock it off._

“I think he’s lonely,” Bucky confessed. “I think he doesn’t have a lot of people he’s close to.”

“So he’s latched onto you,” Nat said. “That’s not… that’s the start of Stalker 101, James.” She took another sip of her tea.

“What do you think I should do?”

“I think you should tell him you’re taking the internship at Hammer Tech,” she said. “And that you’re not taking calls all summer. Tell Darcy not to put him through, if you need to work, keep working. But get him out of your system.”

There was a strange ache in his chest, just considering that. “He’s my best client,” Bucky protested. That was nothing but the truth. Tony was responsible for, minimum, four or five hundred dollars a month. Which… might say something, if he was spending that much money just to _talk_ to Bucky. Well, maybe it wasn’t too bad. If Tony was an upper middle class business guy, he might spend that much money just taking Bucky out on dates, if they were dating.

 _Except you’re not dating him. You’re_ pretending _to have sex with him._

“So you, uh, never wanted to meet anyone that you worked with?”

“I meet lots of people I work with. You, Sharon, Jenn. I hang out with you guys all the time. I don’t work _with_ customers,” she retorted. “I work _for_ a company; I’m just selling a product. That product happens to be a fantasy version of me. They’re not my coworkers, they’re not my friends. They’re… _consumers_.”

“I’ll take it into consideration,” Bucky said.

“You think about it, James,” Nat said. She tipped her mug up and finished off the rest of her tea. “I like you. I don’t want to see you get hurt when this doesn’t go anywhere. And I don’t want to read your name in the papers when you meet some guy who cuts your throat.”

“God, you are so morbid,” Bucky said. He rolled his eyes again.

“Look, I gotta run,” Nat said. She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Good job on landing that internship. Call me in a week, let me know how it’s going.”

***

“Oh,” Tony said.

That was all. Just “oh.”

Except it said a lot of damn things, that oh.

Disappointment.

Pain.

A bit of a desperate need to conceal it.

Act casual.

All the things that Bucky was already feeling. His throat got tight. Like… he was breaking up with Tony? Like, how was that even possible? And maybe Nat was right, because if he wasn’t obsessed, maybe it wouldn’t hurt like this.

“Look, hey, it’s been great, Jamie,” Tony said, all false cheer. “Like, really great, and I know, all good things must end, but--”

“It’s just for the summer,” Bucky burst out. “I’m going to be working a lot, and--”

“No, no, I get it, it’s fine,” Tony said. “You don’t want me to call, I won’t call. I’m an asshole sometimes, but I’m not a hundred percent of a dick.”

“I’m back at school August fifteenth,” Bucky told him. His voice came out a lot smaller than he’d meant it to.

“Look, you don’t have to make excuses,” Tony said. “Just… do me a favor, okay? You got a pen handy?”

Bucky always had a pen, he was in grad school. He only barely didn’t carry a pen into the shower with him. “Yeah.”

Tony rattled off a phone number. “If… uh, if you change your mind, just… use a bar phone or something. Just give me a call, let me know, okay? But I won’t call if you don’t.”

“Tony, I--”

“G’nite, Jamie.”

The phone went dead in his ear.

_Fuck._

Bucky stared at the number he’d written down. He was about seventy percent tempted to call it right goddamn then.

_You’re obsessed. Get him out of your system. He’s not real. He doesn’t care about you._

Bucky swallowed. He tucked the piece of paper into his desk calendar. He wouldn’t need that until the fall either.

He took the headset out of his ear, leaned back in his chair, and just. Sat there. Staring at the wall. Wondering if he’d done the smart thing. The right thing.

Or maybe, just the easy thing.

 


	3. Call Waiting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky and Tony weren't dating... they weren't.
> 
> So why does it feel like breaking up?

Steve’s birthday was the same, every year. Traditionally, they went bar-crawling, got good and drunk, and any survivors staggered back to Steve’s apartment and watched _Born on the_ _Fourth of July_ or _Independence Day._

Steve had already passed out on the floor and Clint had drawn a dick on his forehead with blue icing left over from Steve’s ridiculous cake. It wasn’t as bad as a sharpie, but the blue food coloring would last for a few days. It was still, to make a bad pun, a dick move. Bucky didn’t even grin at his own pun. Not enough vodka.

Bucky was taking up space in the recliner, watching Jeff Goldblum exchange less than witty dialogue with Will Smith and weighing the odds of getting a dick drawn on his own forehead if he had any more vodka.

Of course that would involve getting up to get more vodka.

There was a faint snore; Clint had fallen asleep on Steve, his cheek pressed on Steve’s shoulder. Drooling.

Bucky wondered when the two of them would stop being stupid and just date.

Wasn’t his business.

With a heroic effort, Bucky pried himself out of Steve’s recliner and staggered toward the kitchen for another refill. He hadn’t yet managed to get drunk enough to feel happy. He was able to put a good face on it, but happiness just didn’t seem in reach.

Maybe if he drank enough, he’d find it.

Didn’t help that he hated his new job,

Not just didn’t like it. Not that it was hard or he worked long hours, both of which were true. But he actively hated it.

Everyone -- well, his mom, his sister, and some of his more well-meaning but ultimately asshole friends -- had asked him when he was going to get a real job. (And his mom and sister didn’t even know he’d been doing phone sex for money for the last _year_ …)

Now he had a real job and he fucking hated it.

He hated Vanko, his direct supervisor, who basically dumped all his work on Bucky and the other interns, and then took all the credit. Bucky’d ended up working both Saturday and Sunday for the last three weeks, trying to meet impossible deadlines.

He wasn’t all that keen on Hammer, either. Honestly, he shouldn’t have met the guy at all, but Hammer was one of those micromanaging assholes who wanted to prove his power and superiority over everyone. And he was constantly looking for adulation. He’d shown up on Bucky’s floor a few times for the sole purpose -- as far as Bucky could tell -- of watching everyone fawn all over him. It was gross.

Honestly, for the most part, Bucky felt more in need of a shower after a day of “real work” than spending time talking people into an orgasm.

Bucky about jumped out of his skin when Clint’s phone vibrated viciously, buzzing like an angry hornet.

It was on the kitchen table, the screen flickered briefly and then went dark. Bucky picked it up -- Clint kept his phone on vibrate because most of the time he didn’t wear his hearing aids anyway, and the vibrate feature worked better for him -- to see that he’d gotten a notification from one of his millions of little games he played.

Bucky flipped the phone onto the placemat where the vibrate feature wouldn’t startle him so much.

It was a Stark phone.

Bucky closed his eyes, for a moment, then picked up Clint’s phone again.

Unlike practically everyone else Bucky knew, Clint didn’t keep his phone passcode protected or anything -- he couldn’t remember a pin number and his fingers were so thickly callused from using his bow that he had trouble with the biometrics readers.

Bucky tapped Clint’s phone against his chin for a minute, then dove for his messenger bag. Dug out his appointment book. In the calendar section, there was a blue sticky note.

He shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t.

Not only had he promised Nat he wouldn’t call “Tony” until fall, it was three in the morning.

_All I want to do is hear his voice._

It would probably go to voicemail. Bucky didn’t even have to leave a message, he could just listen to the voicemail. It was Clint’s phone, so even if Tony tried to call back, they’d have one of those conversations about “I didn’t call you” and Clint would yell at the phone “hey jackass, I’m deaf!” and no one would have any reason to know that Bucky had had a moment of weakness.

He grabbed the sticky note and snuck out onto the balcony. Even if Steve woke up -- unlikely, Steve was all a hundred and two pounds of feisty Irish, but he’d put away at least a hundred dollars worth of booze, and even at jacked up bar prices, that was a lot for him. It was very unlikely that Bucky would be disturbed.

Lucky, Clint’s dog, managed to sneak out the door with him, but that was okay. Lucky was a good secret keeper.

Bucky brought up the phone app, punched in the number Tony had given him and tucked the Stark phone under his ear.

The phone rang. Once. Twice.

“Platypus,” Tony said, sounding exasperated. “I am going to bed just as soon as I finish this, so give your friend’s phone back to him and stop hounding me.”

“ _Oh, god_ ,” Bucky breathed. He hadn’t meant to say anything at all, he just wanted to hear Tony’s voice.

“Wait, wait, _you’re_ not Rhodey, who is this?” Tony said, startled.

“Sorry--” Bucky jerked the phone away from his ear, thumb scrambling for the disconnect button.

 _“Jamie?”_ Tony blurted. “Wait, wait, don’t… don’t hang up, honey, please.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Bucky said. “I… I shouldn’t have called, it’s late, I just--” _Missed you_.

“Yeah, no,” Tony said. “You definitely should have called, it’s cool, it’s great. I mean, it’s _great_ to hear from you. And I wasn’t sleeping anyway, I’ve got a lot of work to do, and, yeah, my friend has called me like four times to tell me to go to bed, which would be hilarious and hypocritical of him, except he’s in Afghanistan and it’s like lunchtime in Kabul.”

“Oh,” Bucky said, and it was so very tempting just to sink into that voice, whiskey smooth and a touch on the dark and bitter side. “How did he know you weren’t sleeping?”

“He’s quite familiar with my reputation, after all these years,” Tony said. “But enough about me, let’s talk about you. How’s the new job, are you liking it? What are you doing up so late on the fourth of July, I mean I know there were some good fireworks earlier, but unless you’re all the way out in California -- are you all the way out in California? -- then you should be tucked into your bed by now.” Tony was talking a little faster than normal, like he was highly caffeinated or nervous. Or both.

“You were totally right,” Bucky said.

“Well, contrary to popular opinion, I usually am,” Tony said. “What about?”

“I _hate_ the job,” Bucky told him.

“I’m hardly surprised by that,” Tony said. “So you called me at three in the morning to complain about work?” There was something ugly in Tony’s voice, bitter and angry and… suspicious.

“No,” Bucky said. “No, I didn’t. I just. I don’t know. I called because I missed you. I didn’t think you’d actually answer the phone this late. I thought… I don’t know. I’d listen to your voicemail message a few times and try to sleep.”

Tony inhaled sharply, then, “Are you drunk?”

“Little bit,” Bucky confessed.

“You’re drunk dialing your ex?” Tony asked. “I can’t decide if I’m flattered or insulted.”

“Yeah, you kinda are, aren’t you? My ex, I mean,” Bucky said. He stared up at the stars. It was amazingly clear outside, he could actually see stars. A few stars. That weren’t totally blotted out by New York’s light noise. Or maybe they were just airplanes and satellites. Didn’t matter. Bucky wished on them anyway. “Feels like it. Like I’m sittin’ here with a gut full of cheap vodka and a head full of regret and wonderin’ where the hell everything went wrong and I don’t even know why.”

“Somehow it seems like that should be my line,” Tony said. “If I’m your ex, honey, it’s because you broke up with me.”

“I--”

“I know, it’s not you, it’s me, you needed your space, blah, blah,” Tony said, and he sounded pissed off, which Bucky supposed he deserved but tears were forming up under his lashes and running down his cheeks and--

“I’m sorry,” Bucky said, and he sniffled. “I’ll, look, I should hang up, I shouldn’t have called.”

“No,” Tony said, instantly. “No, don’t… don’t do that, I’m sorry, I’m being selfish and shitty and I’ve been rehearsing this conversation in my head for weeks now, and some of it just… spilled out because I haven’t been sleeping, and that’s--”

“No, no, you’re right, Tony,” Bucky said. “I treated you badly, this is my fault. It… it’s… look the thing, with the job, it’s complicated, it makes everything complicated, and my friend, she suggested that I should take a break, I was getting too invested--”

“Wait, back up. What… I’m sorry, no one apologizes to me, like ever, and I’m not… really sure that you just said what I thought you said,” Tony stammered.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky said, a little slower. “I… I shouldn’t have done it like that. I’m.. I wasn’t…”

“Okay, that was a real apology,” Tony said, “and. Uh, you actually called…”

“Because I missed the sound of your voice,” Bucky said.

“Yeah, okay,” Tony said. “I missed you, too.”

“So, uh, is it okay if we just talk? Like, talk?”

“Sure.”

***

Justin Hammer always entered a room like he expected people to be cheering and was tone deaf enough to fail to realize that they weren’t.

He was, Bucky though, the epitome of why fake it til you make it was just bad damn advice. Justin Hammer was faking everything. And he hadn’t made anything.

Since taking the internship, Bucky found himself, masochistically digging into all the information about Hammer and the company. The man had literally inherited an empire and instead of accomplishing anything with it, he would have been better off sticking all of his cash in a low interest savings account. If he’d done that, the day his father died, he’d be eighteen billion dollars richer than he was now.

By literally doing nothing.

But no, Hammer had to keep doing stuff. Badly.

Chain of hotels: failed.

Several business colleges: failed.

A casino. How the hell did anyone lose money running a casino?

And now, he’d turned his eye to electronics; phones and cameras and computers and tablets for the consumer market. Weapons systems and guns and missiles and rocket launchers for the military.

The joke went that a Hammer phone was more dangerous than a Hammer missile.

After two of them had melted down and exploded while the owners were on _airplanes_ , Bucky could see how that was more true than hyperbole.

“All right, all right, all right,” Justin said, holding his hands out like everyone was cheering. He glanced at his fellow interns. They’d all been gathered up that morning, first thing, and brought down to the biggest meeting room in the building.

Bucky wasn’t sure who named the conference rooms, but it was someone with a terrible sense of humor; he wouldn’t be surprised if it had been Hammer himself. They were all named after frontline bands, so a conference leader might say, “Yeah, I booked Whitesnake for 2pm.” The problem was, Hammer’s musical tastes were years out of date, and so, the conference rooms were named after 80s hair bands.

Bad 80’s hair bands. Whitesnake and Motley Crue, which were okay, but then there was also Hall & Oates and Air Supply.

He and the rest of the interns had been hanging around in New Kids on the Block conference room for at least four hours, not doing anything but getting nervous, when Hammer finally walked in.

“So, uh, I know you’re probably eager to hear why I called you in here this morning,” Justin said.

“Don’t care,” Peggy Carter said. “I’m hungry, can we go to lunch now?”

Bucky feigned a cough to cover up a grin. Peggy was like that, always snarking off. She didn’t take shit from anyone. Bucky wondered how she’d ended up interning at Hammer Tech and why she hadn’t gotten fired yet.

“What was that?” Bucky stared. Surely he had not heard what the fuck he thought Hammer had said.

“Apparently, we’re having a beauty pageant,” Peggy said, sneering. “We’re supposed to march across the stage for Hammer and his flunkies, and he’s going to pick the prettiest six of us to go to the Expo with him, to be booth babes.”

“He actually said _booth babes_?” Bucky hissed.

“No, he said promotional models, but booth babes is what he means. He just wants slightly more educated and eloquent ones than the girls who hire out for comic conventions and aren’t skinny enough to make it on the runway,” Peggy said. “But we’ll have to do our own eyeliner and hair, so really, we’re getting the sticky end of the deal, since we’ll have to memorize the Hammer patter, too. Honestly, I do not get paid for this bullshit.”

“Conveniently, we don’t get paid at all,” Bucky said, but Hammer’s personal assistant was going through the package, which included several nights in a five star hotel, a substantial meal and alcohol allotment, and a clothing allowance as well. Which wasn’t bad, and maybe it would be fun. Hammer seemed to be an equal opportunity sleezeball, at least, since he’d pulled the male interns down, as well as the females. “Come on, Pegs, we can do it. It’ll be fun.”

“You have no idea,” Peggy said. “He’s paying for booze, which means he’s probably expecting from extra curricular. He wants us to hang off him, make it look like he’s getting all kinds of action. It’s gross.”

“I’ll guard your virtue if you guard mine,” Bucky offered.

“You’re hilarious, Barnes,” Peggy told him, “but it’s a deal. If we both get picked, I’ll go. If I get picked and you don’t, I’ll quit. After I throw my shoe at Hammer. That guy is just… ug.”

“Deal,” Bucky said.

***

“I hate you,” Peggy told him, very sincerely, over drinks. “Honestly, Barnes, let me quit.”

“No, you promised. I have to go, you have to go,” Bucky said. He wasn’t usually much on drinking on weekdays, but this was the second one in a row. He was probably going to want to dig his eyeball out with an icepick by Friday.

“Technically, neither of us has to go,” Peggy reasoned. “We’re both young, well educated, attractive people. We could get real jobs somewhere else. Personally, I like the idea of getting all the way down to DC and then quitting and leaving him all short handed and stuff.”

“Yeah, you know, I can’t really do that,” Bucky said, morosely.

“Why not?”

“Student loans,” Bucky said, trying to put as much drama and doom into his tone as possible. “I can’t afford to have someone like Hammer put a black mark on my record.”

“I think you worry too much,” Peggy said. “No one even looks at references anymore. It’s all computer algorithms for getting into the job interview. So, you do what I do.”

“Which is what?”

“Date the guy who programs the headhunting software, so I know how to write my resume,” Peggy said. “Then I show up for the interview, fluff out my victory curls, and bat my eyelashes a bit.”

She was lying. Bucky knew she was lying. Wasn’t she? “I didn’t know Sousa did computer stuff,” he said, feeling it out a little bit. He was pretty sure she’d said her boyfriend, Daniel Sousa, was a _cop_.

“Daniel does a little bit of everything,” Peggy said in such a way that Bucky wondered if she was making a dirty joke or not. Peggy was hard to read, but damn, he liked her. If he had to go to this stupid conference and be a goddamn booth babe, at least she had to suffer with him.

“You’re going to come with me to do that clothes shopping, right?”

“I can make you look sexy, Barnes, don’t you worry about it,” Peggy told him. “Leave your inhibitions at the door, bring the credit card.”

Bucky snorted. He was a sex worker in his spare time -- or he would be again once this internship was over. He was sexy. Apparently, now, he would _look_ sexy. Bucky wondered what the difference was, but he didn’t ask Peggy. She was friendly, sarcastic, and smart, but a lot of people went just a bit judgemental when they found out he worked a sex line.

***

“Heeeeeey,” Justin said, stretching the word out obscenely.

Bucky braced himself, but apparently, for a change, Justin wasn’t talking to him. Bucky had been dealing with getting his ass grabbed every single time Justin Hammer came by his own booth, which he did somewhat more often than Bucky thought was strictly necessary. Justin was supposed to be mingling, making deals, doing whatever it was that CEOs did at trade shows like this -- listening to the guest lecturers, giving speeches. Something that wasn’t harassing his own promotional models-slash-interns.

Bucky didn’t look up from where he was passing out flyers to interested people walking by the booth. Or even, uninterested people who didn’t not-grab them fast enough. There was a bonus in it, so long as Bucky maintained a hand-off rate of more than twenty fliers an hour. Peggy’s job was harder -- she had to get ten people to sign up for the email list -- and easier, because she wore a top so low cut that it should have been illegal and brilliant red lipstick, and pretty much all the men and a good portion of the women at the show would come over and sign anything she put in front of them, just to watch her talk for a few minutes.

She’d had her unfair share of wandering Hammer-hands, too.

Honestly, Bucky was within an inch of finding something sharp and making it look like an accident.

“Tony Stark!” Justin Hammer crowed, “Tony, Tony, Tony, I can call you Tony, right? I was wondering if we’d see you here, with the experts. I didn’t see your booth.”

“No you may not,” a very familiar voice said. “Mr. Hammer, your booth was surprisingly easy to find and I am wondering if any _actual experts_ will be in attendance.”

Bucky turned, mouth dropping open.

That voice. Oh, god.

Tony Stark was standing, not more than three feet away from him. He was dressed to the nines, a custom tailored suit in a rich black that somehow seemed to repel all the dust and fuzz that Bucky’s black suit always attracted. He had a red tie and a few gold accents. Subtle, but reminding people that in addition to being the owner of the most successful global company in the world, he was also a superhero.

Iron Man was literally breathing the same air as Bucky.

“Ha ha, Tony, always joking around,” Justin said, his voice straining a little desperately. “Come on, take a look--”

Tony twisted, just a little, like a dance move, avoiding Justin’s hand that went to grab at Tony’s shoulder. “Mr. Hammer, I have very little interest in your copy-cat tech and stolen schematics. I did, however, want to let you know that there’s a lecture upcoming you might be interested in.”

“Oh, did they decide to let you speak today, Tony?” Justin said, all traces of good humor gone. “In honor of your old man, who was twice the inventor that you are.”

“Howard Stark, was, indeed, a great inventor,” Tony said. “But this particular lecture is about sexual harassment in the technical fields, and as I was noticing your very hands-on methods with your staff here, I thought you could benefit.”

Peggy’s mouth dropped open and then she let her lips curve into a brilliant smile. “Mr. Stark, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Thank you,” Tony said, offering her a hand. “Miss?”

“Carter. Peggy Carter,” she said.

Tony chuckled. He pulled his phone out of his jacket, did something to it and a holographic business card popped out to float just above the phone’s surface. “If you’d care to let me leave you my card, Miss Carter?”

Peggy made a soft _wow_ , and then scrambled for her own phone. Tony flicked the card at her and it vanished. Her phone pinged softly.

“So cool,” she said, bringing up the card on her phone. It didn’t hover or anything -- it’s not like even the coolest tech could change a eBain to a Starkphone -- but it was there, merging seamlessly with competitor’s software.

Bucky didn’t say anything. He couldn’t. He could barely breathe.

Tony Stark was standing right next to him, and even after all of Bucky’s doubts and Natasha’s fears… it was him. It was…

_Tony._


	4. Conference Call

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a long chapter... 
> 
> (includes some majorly creepy sexual harassment from Justin Hammer, and Bucky having a panic attack, ask me on tumblr if you need more information)

Why couldn't Justin Hammer just leave them alone? He’d been bothering them all day in the booth, fussing over everything they were doing and being all grabby handed, even after Tony Stark had made his well-honed observation and walked away.

All Bucky wanted to do was hang out with his friend in the hotel bar and pretend that what he'd done was strategy, the smart thing to do, and not just simple cowardice. He was pretty sure it was, actually, cowardice. That he could have stood that close to Tony and not said a goddamn word? That he even looked aside, rather than meeting Tony’s eyes and knowing what Tony would see there, if he looked.

Longing. Heartbreak. Regret.

Tony would know him, as surely as Bucky had known Tony, wouldn’t he? He’d know Jamie’s voice. But what if he didn’t?

What if he did, and didn’t care?

Bucky wasn’t so sure knowing the truth was worth all the possible bad things that could happen in that moment.

So Bucky had let an agony of indecision take choice out of his hands and Tony had walked away.

Peggy had let him get a drink or two in before starting to prod for details, but her advice had been completely different from Nat's.

“James Barnes, do you mean to tell me that you don't know your own value?” she demanded.

On the other hand she knew that Tony was actually who he said he was. She didn’t doubt that Bucky knew what he was talking about, wasn’t making it up to try to pass himself off as important, either. She’d also been remarkably non judgemental about Bucky being a sex worker, and Bucky was vaguely ashamed of having worried that she would be.

“I know my value,” Bucky said. “It’s about negative seventy-thousand dollars.” And he knew himself, better than Peggy did, at any rate. He wasn’t worth much. Maybe average value for a human being. He wasn’t terrible, but he wasn’t anything close to extraordinary. Tony wasn’t just out of Bucky’s circle, he was out of the goddamn stratosphere.

Bucky started wondering if Tony had ever actually said he wasn't Tony or if Bucky had just assumed that. There was no reason for someone like Tony Stark to call a sex line. Tony could have (and by all rumors did) have anyone he wanted. “Why the hell would he want me? I'm just--” he started to say when Hammer appeared out of nowhere with a waitress in tow, carrying a tray of shots and a few baskets of nachos. Bucky promptly shut his mouth, so hard and so fast that he bit the tip of his tongue.

“Heeeeey,” Hammer said, “how's my favorite interns?”

Bucky almost scoffed. Like Hammer even knew their names before this weekend. Hell, he probably didn't know them now. Except both of them had been wearing their name tags all day. Which didn't mean anything because Bucky's read “James” and Peggy has unearthed “Margaret,” which Bucky was only not mocking her about because she was being kind about _James_. And he was pretty sure she'd talked Angie down at records into finding out Buchanan. Which was even worse.

“Mr. Hammer,” Peggy said crisply and Hammer took that for the invitation it wasn't and sat down, squeezing her into a corner of the booth.

The way her face crinkled, Bucky was positive that Hammer had just put his hand on her leg. Bucky stretched, and kicked out, catching Hammer's calf with a sharp blow. “'Scuse me,” Bucky said. “Tight quarters here for three. Let me get the hostess to move us?”

“Nah it's cozy, and we're all friends here,” Hammer said. He stretched, oh-so-casual, and Bucky could feel Hammer manspreading on the bench, and one arm went around the back of the seat, where Peggy ended up leaning forward to get away from it. It didn’t help, Hammer just let his fingers dangle until they were brushing the back of her neck.

She sat back and pinched his hand between her back and the bench, and Hammer finally gave up on that particular avenue. Peggy was tough. She spoke so sweet that you’d have to pay strict attention to realize she’d just thrown epic shade. Hammer was not paying attention to a word she said, which gave Peggy the opportunity to say any number of unflattering things in that honey smooth voice.

Bucky rolled his eyes and braced for an unproductive, but entertaining, evening. He'd have to catch Peggy up later. Maybe he could even stagger back to her room with her, let Hammer think they were a couple. Except knowing that guy, he'd try to make it a threesome. _Gross_. No boundaries. Honestly what the hell was wrong with some people?

The first time it happened, Bucky thought Hammer was going after Peggy.

The man dropped a fork off the side of the table and actually bent over to pick it up, which didn't at all seem like a Hammer move. Snapping his fingers at the waitress seemed more his style. Peggy gave Bucky a fierce glare and a significant look, but Bucky couldn't figure out what she meant before Hammer was straightening up again.

It wasn't until the third time Hammer dropped something that Bucky realized that Hammer was checking out Bucky's package. Bucky was, after all, sitting in his typical wide legged sprawl, since he had the whole side of the booth to himself.

And then it was goddamn _weird_. It wasn't like Bucky was wearing a skirt. Everything he owned was decently covered up. Hammer wasn't seeing anything that Bucky would be ashamed of his grandma looking at. Except his grandmother wasn't usually getting up to her nose in Bucky's crotch either.

He got a keen understanding in why girls crossed their legs even when they were wearing pants. It wasn't what Hammer was seeing or not seeing. It was about _intent_. The whole thing was making Bucky _vulnerable_. _Objectified_. And it was creeping him out.

Peggy was, thank Christ for Peggy, trying desperately to help him. She suggested on a few occasions that Hammer might be intoxicated and need to go sleep it off, especially with the big military contractor meeting tomorrow.

And Hammer kept buying drinks and Bucky wasn't even sure why he was drinking them but finally the liquor got to him. “Gonna go hit th’ head,” Bucky said, and he was going to use a damn stall if Hammer followed him into the men’s room, because Jesus, that was just too much.

Hammer, who was working hard on getting hammered, if not nailed -- because seriously, Bucky was not touching that, even if he did lose his job, and even if he had to punch Hammer in the face -- made one last skittering attempt and his phone went over the side.

Bucky stepped on it. He didn’t mean to, it wasn’t in the plan at all, but he just wasn’t that fast or coordinated when intoxicated.

The phone made a disturbingly final cracking sound under Bucky’s shoe.

Hammer’s hand went around Bucky’s ankle. Bucky tottered, alarmed and off balanced.

“What is this?” Hammer demanded, and his hand went from just touching Bucky’s ankle to outright grabbing it. Bucky fell, arms spinning like a damn windmill. Brilliant pain punched through his lower back where he scraped against the table before he ended up half sprawled over the booth’s bench. Peggy squawked as her glass of wine tipped and soaked over the remaining nachos. She grabbed a handful of napkins and threw them at the table, keeping herself mostly dry, and Bucky took only a thin drizzle of cheap chardonnay across his jeans.

“I’m so sorry,” Bucky blurted. “I didn’t mean t’ step--”

“No, I mean this.” Hammer yanked and there was a red flare of fire across Bucky’s skin as his anklet chain dug in and then snapped off. The little crystal arc-reactor glittered over Hammer’s knuckles.

 _Oh_.

“That's mine!” Bucky exclaimed, instinctively. He reached for the anklet. “A friend gave it to me.”

“Yeah. A friend.” Hammer packed a lot of sneer into three words. “There are rules at Hammer Tech. About wearing or using competitors products.”

“That don't apply to phones, otherwise he'd have to provide them, isn't that right Mr. Hammer?” Peggy singsonged. She had signaled their waitress for more napkins. Hammer didn't even look at her, too incensed about Bucky's goddamn jewelry to care.

“Why are you wearing this on my company time?” Hammer roared.

“It's not company time,” Bucky said numbly. Although the truth was, he'd never ever thought to take it off. No one ever saw his damn ankle in the pants and socks he had to wear at work. But he and Peggy has gone back to the hotel rooms before drinks and he'd wanted to change out of the uncomfortable black trousers and look somewhat less like he worked at Walmart in his black pants and blue shirt.

Hammer surged to his feet, broken phone in one hand, snapped chain in the other.

Bucky stared, rigid with shock, as Hammer used the broken phone to smash Bucky’s anklet charm against the table, slamming it down until Hammer’s palm was bleeding from cracked bits of screen glass, until the silver housing was flattened. Until the blue crystal inside was nothing but brightly colored dust.

Peggy seemed to be the only one with sense in the entire room, as she’d pulled out her phone and was filming the whole thing with an expression of gleeful hatred.

“You’re fired, Barnes,” Hammer yelled. Other people were staring and Bucky wanted to sink under the table and fucking die of embarrassment. “You’re fired. Get out of that hotel room immediately--”

“It’s almost three in th’ morning!” Bucky protested. How the hell was he supposed to get home now, where was he supposed to go?

“You can share my room, James,” Peggy told him earnestly.

“Do you want to get fired, too, Miss Carter?”

Peggy blinked, then smiled, brilliant and cheery. “Oh, bloody _finally_! Yes, please. Fire me. I refuse to quit a thing, even when I am forced to deal with a lout like yourself, but if you fire me… well, that’s just heavenly. Thank you.” She shared her grin with Bucky. “You can still stay in my room, if you want. I do, actually, have credit cards.”

“That’s… that’s _fraternizing_ ,” Hammer spluttered. “You can’t--”

“Sleep with someone else in the company who’s not you?” Peggy asked, eyebrows lifted. “Perhaps not, Mr. Hammer, but you just fired us, so our sleeping arrangements, sexual prowess, and stamina, are now no longer your concern. Goodnight. Come along, James.”

It was all Bucky could do not to try to recover the pieces of his ankle bracelet from the table, dust and crushed metal and ruined chain. Panic warred with anger, tussled with grief, and all around it was wrapped sheer disbelief that anyone, particularly an adult, particularly an adult who was the head of a major corporation, could really do something like that.

“Extra dickish,” Bucky muttered. He didn’t look back. Took Peggy’s arm and let her lead him away. Knew that if she hadn’t been there, he would have collapsed in a gibbering mess of what ifs, and holy shits, and what, even the fucks.

“It’s all right, James,” Peggy was saying. “Just keep walking. You can have a nervous breakdown as soon as we’re in your room, I promise.”

“I’m not going to have a nervous breakdown,” Bucky said.

She didn’t even have to look at him.

“I hate you,” Bucky told her.

“I know, darling,” she said. “Not far now. Let’s just get out of sight.”

***

They ended up in the stairwell, Bucky on the landing, head between his knees while he gasped for air and shook.

“I lost my job?” Bucky was saying, and he couldn’t stop. The way his dad was going to look at him, he couldn’t even keep a lousy internship for the whole summer? Who the hell thought it was a good idea to let him be an adult? “Can’t even keep a job? Oh, my god. I am such a fuckup.”

“James, James, you’re fine, darling,” Peggy said. She had one hand on the back of his neck, her thumb rubbing against his spine, keeping him grounded somewhere in his body, the touch of her hand keeping the panic from spiralling out of control. “This was not a job, this was a sexual harassment lawsuit waiting to happen.”

She said harassment in that British accent of hers that always threw Bucky off, and focusing on her words and tone, rather than what had just happened, Bucky started to calm down. “I don’t know what to do now,” he said.

“What we’re going to do now is--”

A door slammed open several floors below them, and someone started climbing the stairs, muttering. The footsteps on the stairs bounced around, fluttering against the concrete walls like bats. Bucky cringed, pressed his head down lower, and scooted across the step to the wall to make room. He couldn’t get up, there was no way in hell he was getting off this stair right now, even if it was hard and cold and his back was aching. He would not be moved. He was going to plant his flag right there on the river bank and say, “No, you move.”

Bucky pressed even tighter against the wall, feeling the chill of the concrete under his fingers, against his cheek. Peggy had her phone out and was texting frantically.

“What’s up?” Bucky asked. He wasn’t really sure he cared, exactly, but he was starting to feel weird and self-conscious, whining in the stairwell.

“Nothing, darling,” Peggy said. “I’m just telling Angie what happened tonight. Hammer will be sorry. I cannot believe he broke your anklet. I knew he was a stupid, petty man, but I did not realize that he was actually capable of assault. I’m so sorry, darling, I should never have let you talk us into coming to this horrible event.”

Bucky made some effort to look up. Peggy was stroking his shoulder and upper arm comfortingly, her pretty face concerned. Which was, in and of itself, somewhat concerning. Peggy was not what Bucky would have thought of as motherly, or the least bit tender. She was fiercely protective of her friends, but that seemed to come with a large dose of sarcasm and theats to beat someone to death with an umbrella. Funny, touching, but not usually comforting. Bucky must be a real mess. “Nah, it’s okay,” Bucky said. “Consider it a learning experience.”

“Come, darling, let’s get out of this nasty old stairwell, shall we? Pack up your things, before Hammer can do any more damage to your possessions, and then we’ll go outside and have a breather?”

“You’re the best,” Bucky said, sincerely.

“Yes, well, it takes one to know one, and you… James, you deserve much better than this,” she told him. Peggy offered him a hand up and Bucky wasn’t ashamed to take it. She had a lot more strength than most people would give her credit for, and she prized being of use.

“Thanks,” Bucky said. He tucked his arm over her shoulder and let her help him up to his room.

***

Peggy’s idea of helping him pack was lounging on his bed, feet up and crossed at the ankles, while she texted frantically. She looked remarkably nonchalant for a position that Bucky knew for a fact made his elbows ache and his fingers fall asleep in moments. From time to time, she’d look up from her phone and mention that he might want to get his charger off the desk, or to check in the drawer to see if he left anything. “Oh, and don’t forget to take all the toiletries,” she told him. “They just throw that out if you don’t use it, so you may as well not waste it. And if you’re anything like Daniel, you don’t realize you’re out of shampoo before you’re in the shower.”

“Gee, thanks, mom,” Bucky said. He washed his face while he was in the bathroom anyway and then threw the damp handtowel at her.

“Let’s go up to the roof,” she said, twisting around gracefully, never taking her hand off her phone before tucking it into her pocket.

“Why?”

She was stacking his suitcase and toiletries bag up, tucked his baseball cap on top of her curls, which made her look stupidly adorable. Bucky wanted to put a bow on her and stick her in his pocket, except she’d kick his ass for saying so.

“I want some fresh air, and there are paparazzi all over the lobby,” she said.

“How do you even know that?”

“Social media, darling,” Peggy said. She tapped her pocket where her phone was. “Come on, come on, let’s get out of here before Hammer tries to pay you a late night visit and fuck you into submission.”

“Well, that’s a terrifying thought, Pegs,” Bucky said. It had its intended effect, though, and Bucky finished one last sweep of his room to make sure he had everything. He threw the card key on the bed and they left. He wasn’t going to check out. Let Hammer deal with that shit.

Peggy’s room was a floor up, and down the hall, the layout backward to how Bucky’s had been, but also included a second bed. It was a fold out in the sofa, but Bucky’s slept in worse places. Peggy grabbed two Diet Cokes out of her mini fridge and dropped a couple of Advil in Bucky’s hand.

“Stop mothering me,” he told her, but he took the caplets anyway. Just because she was being fussy didn’t mean she wasn’t also right.

“I’m not,” she told him. “I merely don’t wish to be woken at seven in the morning with you crying in agony because the light came in through the curtains.”

The rooftop was open, unlocked. A small entertainment area -- dance floor and open air bar -- was tucked over in one corner, lit by a flickering string of christmas lights. It was pretty. Bucky looked around at the DC skyline, somewhat subdued from what he was used to, but easily recognizable, once he got himself oriented. There was the Washington Monument, and from there, the reflecting pool. He amused himself by picking out landmarks. He could probably catch a train from DC to New York City, but maybe he could do some touring before he left. Most of the DC attractions were free to the public.

The faintest crunch of gravel underfoot was all the warning Bucky had that they weren’t alone.

“I’m sorry, James darling,” Peggy said. She bounced up on her toes and kissed his cheek. “I may not mother, but I certainly meddle.” She pressed her spare card key into his numbed fingers. “Just talk to him. Come downstairs if you need to.”

“Why do I feel like this is a set up,” Tony said, stepping into the faint light. He was still wearing those black suit pants that clung to his legs, altho the jacket had vanished a while ago. The vest hung open, tie was loose and several buttons undone on the formerly crisp, white shirt.

“Well, darlings, it looks like it’s on me to provide introductions,” Peggy said, as Bucky did nothing but stare, and Tony crossed his arms and glared. “James, Tony Stark. Mr. Stark, this is my good friend, Bucky Barnes.”

“Who the hell is Bucky?” Tony demanded.

“I am,” Bucky said, and if the earth could have swallowed him up right that second, he would have been grateful. But no, the world kept turning, like it always did.

“You boys be nice to each other,” Peggy chided and then vanished before Bucky could grab her arm and demand that she stay _right there_ and save him from the epic disaster that was his life.

“I hate you, Peggy Carter,” Bucky yelled after her, because what the hell else was he supposed to do.

“You love me, darling,” she chirped, just before the stairwell door closed behind her.

Tony was still standing there, looking like a couple billion dollars and nothing and noone that Bucky should ever even be in the same room with. His arms were still crossed over his chest and his fingers drummed restlessly on his lower arm. The cuffs of his shirt were rolled up and Bucky had never seen anyone so beautiful in his whole life.

Which just made everything hurt so much more.

“Strange that someone who made his living telling me everything I wanted to hear can stand there and have nothing to say,” Tony ground out.

“What do you want me to say?” Bucky demanded, snapping suddenly.

“I want you to tell me the truth, Jamie,” Tony said. “Why all the cloak and dagger shit? You call me three weeks ago to say you missed me, from… whose phone was that anyway? I spend--”

“Shit!” Bucky said. “I’m so sorry about that, it was Clint’s phone, he’s… he’s deaf. He never uses his phone minutes, he just texts with people, I didn’t even think he’d notice if I… I wasn’t quite ready. To… you know. Give you my phone number.”

“Why?”

“Because sex workers _get killed_ , Tony! We’re told, constantly, from the get-go, with this job. Don’t tell them who you are. Use a stage name, never give out personal information. Don’t get attached. Nat knew I was breaking th’ rules. She told me I needed to quit on you.”

“Giving out personal information? I thought the calls weren’t monitored,” Tony said, eyebrows up.

“Getting attached,” Bucky confessed. “She said… she said I talked about you like you were my boyfriend, not a client.” The skyline was nice. Fascinating. He stared at it, so he didn’t have to look at Tony.

“And the girl tonight?”

“What, Peggy?” Bucky almost turned to look. Why the hell was he getting the third goddamn degree? “She interned with me at Hammer Tech. We both got fired tonight.” Bucky uttered a croaky little laugh.

“You can see how this might all look very… suspect, right?” Tony asked, but his hand came down on the edge of the wall, very close, but not quite, touching Bucky’s. “I mean, you knew who I was.”

“You know, I really didn’t,” Bucky said. “Not until this afternoon when I heard you talking. I… I mean, you gotta look at it from my end. I’m a fantasy, I’m not a real person, everyone knows that. I pretend a scene, pretend… whatever you want me to be. Sometimes what people want is to not be themselves for a while. I thought--”

“You thought I was lying,” Tony said.

“I thought you were role-playing,” Bucky said. “It’s not th’ same thing as lyin’. Can, can you jus’ try to understand why my job makes all this complicated?”

“I don’t see what’s gotta be complicated about it,” Tony said. “You’re not real, I’m not real, nothing that happened was real. If I built it up in my head that it was different, that’s on me, not on you.”

Bucky took a deep breath. It might have been easier not to say anything, to pretend to misunderstand, or to not hear what he knew Tony was saying.

“It was all real,” Bucky said.

Tony didn’t answer that, just turned and looked. In the dim street lights and shadows of early morning, those eyes were as dark as obsidian, cool and reflecting everything back at Bucky. Like Tony’s sunglasses were just a show, that the real mask was on, underneath. All the time.

“It was all real for me,” Bucky said. “Every bit of it. That’s why I had to let it go.”

“Maybe I’m vastly overestimating my fame, but how… how did you _not know_?”

“Man, I heard you on television once, like ten years ago,” Bucky said. “I’m in grad school, I don’t… I don’t watch tv. I don’t… listen to celebrity gossip. I checked some stuff about you online, when we started talkin’, and I thought… I thought you were really thorough about your research. That’s all. I didn’t… I didn’t know. Swear.”

“This wasn’t some big, Pretty Woman scheme, with you and your girlfriend?”

“Pegs? Peggy is not my girlfriend. What, did she text to to come up here? She’s meddling. That’s all that was.”

“Okay,” Tony said, breathing a little harder. “Let’s say I believe you. What now?”

“Dude, you’re asking me?” Bucky blinked.

“I’ve been told by any number of people, yes, that enthusiastic consent is important. Mine, yours, et cetera.” Tony said. “What… what do you want to do? Pretend this never happened? I don’t call the 900 number, you go on with your life? Go back to what we used to have?” Tony’s hand flicked out and brushed a lock of hair out of Bucky’s face. “You really should be a cam-boi. You are really… easy on the eyes.”

Bucky felt the back of his neck heat. “Why?”

“Why… why you? Why do I care? Look, on the phone, you… didn’t care. You didn’t care that I was Iron Man, besides making a few jokes about it. You didn’t care that I was Tony Stark. You talk about shit that’s not real. None of that is… _who I am_. I don’t get a lot of that. I liked it.”

“You didn’t get a lot of my Jamie persona,” Bucky admitted. “Most of what I gave you, that was one hundred percent Bucky Barnes. But… I can’t promise it won’t be weird. I mean, you are Tony Stark. And I’m a grad student and a sex worker. You know--”

“People will find out. They always do,” Tony said. “It’s why I decided not to go for Shield’s cover story. Trying to pretend I wasn’t who I am, that I wasn’t doing what I was doing? I didn’t want to live like that. So, you know, I’ve been there. If…”

“Let’s start over,” Bucky said, on impulse. “Hi, Mr. Stark, I’m James Barnes. My friends call me Bucky.”

Tony stretched out a hand. “You can call me Tony.”

Yeah, that wasn’t going to work, at all, because as soon as Tony’s skin touched Bucky’s, it was like his whole body lit on fire. Every inch of him was aware of every single bit of Tony.

“Oh, hell,” Bucky said. He leaned in, and Tony met him halfway.

The taste of Tony’s mouth was like everything Bucky’d ever wanted and didn’t even know he needed. A rush of pleasure and heat, storming over everything else, obliterating everything in its path. Tony’s tongue slid against his lip and Bucky opened for him. It was treacherously sweet, dangerously delicious, an insidious sort of magic that worked inside him and changed him.

Tony’s mouth left his, traced a line of fire across Bucky’s cheek and nuzzled at his throat. “Oh, god,” Tony was saying, his breath a tingle against Bucky’s skin.

 _Yes. This._ Tony’s mouth was whispering promises over his flesh, a path of tiny kisses, flickers of heat against his collarbone.

Bucky made a pained whimper when Tony pulled back, his hands closing helplessly on Tony’s shirt, aching to pull him back in.

“It’s nice to meet you, Bucky Barnes,” Tony said. A tiny smile played around his lips.

Bucky couldn’t help laughing. “Yeah, same.”

“Look, let’s… let me take you out for breakfast, right? Not--” Tony gave him a sardonic stare. “Not like that. Go back and crash at your friend’s place. Breakfast. Tomorrow. Call me, when you’re--”

“Awake and sober and not freakin’ out?” Bucky suggested.

“Yeah, that.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.” Tony brushed his knuckles over Bucky’s cheek, then ran his thumb over Bucky’s bottom lip, making it tingle. “Kiss me again?”

“Oh, yes,” Bucky said, and pulled Tony in. Their mouths crashed together, eager, hungry. The faint scratch of Tony’s beard against Bucky’s skin was a delectable tease. The sound of his breathing, achingly familiar and at once completely new. It was harder, that time, to let him go. “Breakfast. I’ll call you.”

“I’m going to hold you to that.”

Bucky walked backward toward the stairs, not wanting to let Tony out of his sight, and Tony watched him, the whole time.

Bucky staggered back to Peggy’s room. She hadn’t gone to sleep yet, still poking her phone while wearing a ridiculous, oversized tee-shirt that came down to her knees. “Well?”

“I… uh… have a date.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PS - no, this isn't the end. there will be some dating and then actual in person smuts. But there might be a little extra time between this chapter and that. I do have other fic to write :D


	5. Wake Up Call

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic refuses to end properly, so there's another chapter (at least) forthcoming, tentatively titled Booty Call

Bucky was more than halfway through his shower, waiting on his conditioner before he remembered that he _did not actually have_ Tony’s phone number.

“Fuck!” he yelled, hitting the side of the fiberglass shower stall with one fist.

“Oh, whatever it is, darling, it’s not that bad,” Peggy said, and it wasn’t through the door, either.

Bucky squeaked. “What are you doing in here?”

“My eyeliner,” Peggy said. “You don’t think this sort of perfection comes easily, do you darling?”

“You could have knocked,” Bucky complained. He knew she couldn’t see him through the cloth shower curtain, but really, it was the principle of the thing. Did she not believe in privacy? He felt hot all over and it certainly wasn’t from the shower’s temperature.

“It’s my hotel room,” she told him. “And I have brothers. I’ve seen all the naked men I want to in my life, they’re all pretty much the same.”

Bucky snorted. She obviously hadn’t seen some of the naked men that he’d seen. Or, for that matter, she hadn’t seen Tony Stark, which Bucky had been spending some time _imagining_.

“Now that we’ve established I have no interest in ogling your naked body, and that I need to curl my eyelashes, what has you in such a dither?”

“I ain’t got Tony’s number in my contact list,” Bucky said. “It’s in a notebook, back at my apartment.”

“Who, exactly, do you think called him yesterday to let him know where you were brooding?”

“You?” Bucky hazarded a guess.

“Give the man a kewpie doll,” Peggy said, clapping her hands together sarcastically. Bucky was quite impressed that he could read sarcasm through a shower curtain, but he could. Either that, or she was laying it on really thick.

“Establishing that _you_ have his phone number and you’re not at all adverse to acting like m’ sister,” Bucky said, trying to emulate Peggy’s very proper British tone, the one that threw epic shade and that Bucky would like to get better at, since Peggy’d knocked Hammer down a few rungs on the social ladder yesterday and Bucky had only managed to just barely not look like a complete idiot. “What do you want in exchange for this information?”

“My first born child?” Peggy suggested.

Bucky actually peered around the edge of the shower curtain at her. “Is that backward?”

“No, darling,” Peggy said. “Babysitting, free of charge, for the rest of my life, if I should ever be so foolish as to reproduce.”

Bucky squinched one eye shut as soap ran down his face, then ducked back in the shower to finish rinsing off. “I reserve the right to renegotiate for something like turning straw into gold at a later date.”

“Also, I should like very much to be your maid of honor.”

“We haven’t even had one date yet,” Bucky protested plaintively. “Seems a bit early to be pickin’ out curtains.”

“I hardly said you should be marrying Stark,” Peggy said. “But someday, I really would like to be a bridesmaid. I’ve not been maintaining friendships with the sorts of people who want to get married, so, you, my dear friend, are an incurable romantic, and therefore, I fully expect the full regalia; tuxes and pretty dresses and flowergirls.”

“Hard bargain, but a’ight.” Bucky reached for the shower knob, then -- “Look, I know we’re bein’ all casual here, but I’d like t’ dry off. Can I get just a tiny bit of privacy?”

“You are utterly ridiculous, but of course,” Peggy said. She rattled a few things around and then shoved a white towel at him from one side of the curtain. “I’ll just wait for you outside, and in the meanwhile, I shall see what looks good for breakfast around here. You’ll want somewhere to go, for your date.”

“As the person asking for the date, I kinda thought he was supposed to be the one coming up with something to do,” Bucky said as he came out of the bathroom, toweling his hair vigorously. He’d yanked his drawers and jeans on, his too-warm, still damp skin protesting the treatment.

“Don’t be so plebeian, darling,” Peggy said. “It’s always good to have options. Particularly if Stark tells you that he’s jetting you to Paris or something and you don’t have your passport with you, you’ve got a good, local suggestion at the ready.”

Bucky stared. It hadn’t even occurred to him that Tony might suggest leaving the goddamn country as a first date. On the other hand, he wasn’t entirely sure why it wouldn’t have occurred to him. The guy was a billionaire, he probably flew out to England when he wanted a good cup of tea. Well, except Tony probably didn’t drink tea; his coffee addiction was the stuff of tabloid legends. “I don’t think I’m dressed for Paris,” Bucky said numbly.

“That’s why you should go to Slipstream instead,” Peggy said. “Very hipster. Avocado on toast. Or eggs, or whatever. Good coffee. And here--” she poked the screen on her phone “-- I sent you a groupon, in case you want to be all manly and try to go Dutch for a first date.”

Bucky hadn’t thought about that, either. “Do you think I shouldn’t?” The few dates he’d gone on, he’d either covered the check himself, or they’d split it. He and his last boyfriend had taken turns paying for their outings.

“I think it’s a delicate line to tread,” Peggy said, truthfully. “He’s probably used to paying for everything, so I would make the offer to split it. But don’t argue with him. You don’t have anything to prove here. He already knows what you do for a living, so--”

“I don’t know that I feel comfortable with the idea of a sugar daddy,” Bucky said.

Peggy scowled at him. “Then don’t define it that way, darling. You’re not on equal footing here, don’t try to pretend like you are. Accept what the situation is and make the most of it. Anything else is asking for grief.”

“How’d you get so smart?”

“I refuse to read _Cosmo_ magazine,” she said, pertly.  

Bucky picked out a shirt and tugged it on. He didn’t have a lot of choices, really. It was either the work clothes that Hammer gave him, and for understandable reasons, Bucky didn’t want to wear those, or his evening wear, which was on the hipster end of casual. He took several deep breaths, then brought up the contact number Peggy gave him.

“Wish me luck,” he said.

“You don’t need luck, darling,” Peggy said. She’d gone back to poking her phone and absent-mindedly kicking her pillow. “Just be yourself.”

“That’s terrible advice,” Bucky told her.

“I know. But everyone else is already taken.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, punched the button and brought the phone to his ear. He had just enough time to panic about it being too early and that he shouldn’t have called when Tony answered the phone.

“You’d better be a gorgeous brunette that I have a previously arranged engagement with, or I’m hanging up,” Tony said. He didn’t sound particularly sleep-muzzy, either, and Bucky grinned without even realizing it, at being called gorgeous.

“Morning, Tony,” he said. “Or since we’re on the phone, do you want me to call you Iron Man?”

“Oh, you’re back to flirty on the phone,” Tony purred. “I like it. The dichotomy, I mean. I like you, shy or otherwise. But never quite knowing what I’m going to get when you say good morning, well, that’s a variable reward system. Makes me want to hear you say good morning every day, just to see which version of you I’m getting.”

“Mostly, you get the bedhead and decaffeinated zombie snarling,” Bucky said. “Me and mornings take a while to get friendly. In fact, it’s usually mostly over by the time i’m ready to play nice.”

“That’s about par for the course for me, too,” Tony said. “Do you like beignets? Of course you do, everyone loves beignets. I’ll send the car around for you, plane should be ready--”

“I feel the need to inform you that leaving the state is not on my to-do list for today.”

Peggy cackled wildly, kicking her pillow several times.

“What? Why not? It’s barely nine in the morning, we can be be in New Orleans having breakfast by eleven, local.”

“First of all, you’re making Pegg give me the ‘I told you so’ face, and I haven’t had enough coffee to put up with that,” Bucky said. “Second, and I’m not saying we can’t go to New Orleans, I’ve never been, I’m sure it’s great, but I am putting the kibosh on leaving the state for a _first date_. Too much awkward, if I decide to ghost you after the coffee’s served.”

“You need a place where you can stuff breadsticks in your purse, honey?” Tony asked him.

“I don’t think so,” Bucky admitted, “but let’s save the really extravagant stuff--”

“Fourth date,” Tony said, snapping his fingers that echoed over his phone. Bucky guessed the man had him on speaker. “Fourth date, we’ll go to New Orleans, deal?”

Bucky considered it for a moment, then threw up his mental shoulders. “Sure. New Orleans for a fourth date, if we have one.”

“Deal. Two weeks, we’re going to New Orleans, you said,” Tony joked. “I’m a futurist, and while that doesn’t mean I see the future, in this particular case, I’m going to make an exception and go ahead and predict it.”

Bucky’s cheeks hurt, as hard as he was smiling. There was just something infectious about Tony’s enthusiasm. “Okay,” he said. “But for today, for this first date…”

“Slipstream,” Peggy prompted him. “And a walk in the park.”

Bucky dutifully repeated that.

“Are you being coached, gorgeous?”

“Peggy,” Bucky admitted. “Which you should appreciate, because she’s the one with the balls that got us out of that shit with Hammer yesterday. If it was me, I’d probably still be hiding under the table, sobbing like a little kid, trying to pick up the pieces.”

“Pieces?” Tony demanded, sharply.

“Bastard broke my charm anklet,” Bucky told him. “Yesterday’s news. Not important.”

“Sure, okay,” Tony agreed. “Breakfast at Slipstream, and a walk. Sounds nice. Let’s do that. I’ll meet you in the lobby in… fifteen minutes.”

***

The Tony that met him in the lobby wasn’t the one that Bucky found so damn intimidating, the sharp, tailored suit and the weird pink sunglasses and matching cufflinks that probably cost more than Bucky’s car.

That Tony was nowhere to be seen, and Bucky found himself grateful that Tony was wearing a pair of black jeans and an AC/DC tee that looked like it might have been purchased a decade ago, at least.

“You ever see them in concert?” Bucky asked, which was a stupid question. Except that Tony probably didn’t wear band tees ironically. Bucky had a moment trying to picture Tony popping tags at the local Plato’s Closet, and then shook his head.

“Couple of times,” Tony admitted. “I might have hired them to play my birthday one year. The _Blow up your Video_ album, it was pretty epic. That’s an obscure music pun, and now I’ve reminded you that I’m old. Bad opening gambit, Stark.”

“Yeah? I’ve got an old twelve inch single, with _Snake Eye_ on the B-side.” He’d gotten it at an estate sale, and it was one of the prizes of his collection.

“You’re a music nerd?” Tony asked, delighted. “How did I not know that? We never talked music before. That seems--”

Bucky hesitated, then reached out and took Tony’s hand. “Gives us something to talk about over breakfast,” he suggested. “Come on, let’s walk. It’s not far.”

“Ug, I’m allergic to fresh air,” Tony complained. He twined his fingers with Bucky’s though, and let him lead them out the door.

“Good thing we’re in DC, then,” Bucky said. He couldn’t quite help peering around as they left the hotel, not entirely sure if they were going to be walking into a huge bunch of photographers, but the way seemed clear.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Tony said. “They don’t recognize me most of the time without the razzle-dazzle. And I’ll get the suit to do a flyby on the north end of the city -- autopilot is great for a distraction.”

Bucky felt a little stupid there, of course Tony had done this before, and of course he knew how to avoid the press, as much as it was possible. The man did go out and jog in the park sometimes, and while he probably didn’t do his own grocery shopping, Tony could keep a low profile when he wanted to.

It was bright and sunny, just late enough on a weekday that the streets weren’t as crowded. Bucky squeezed Tony’s fingers and let himself enjoy it. Tony was the perfect height, Bucky decided, just short enough to let Bucky feel protective, not so short that kissing was going to be awkward.

They talked about music, and Bucky related one of his best musical experiences; the stage had been set up in a football field, and halfway through the opening act, the sky opened up and it started pouring. It didn’t take long for most of the concert goers to clear out, and then the sound system shorted out, just after the main act took the stage, but the lead singer had beckoned everyone down out of the seating who were left -- all twenty of them, including Bucky and Steve, and he’d done a little acoustic show under the stage’s awning.

“I mean, they were a little nobody band, but it was endearing,” Bucky said. “I’ve got all their merch, and half of it’s signed.”

“You like that kinda thing, little bands and outdoor concerts?” Tony asked.

“Yeah, there’s something about that live music experience that you just can’t get anywhere else. There’s a certain energy to a crowd,” Bucky explained, waving one hand around expressively.

“Sure, if you’re not the focus of it,” Tony surmised. “Being in front of people can be exhausting and exciting at the same time. But mostly, exhausting.”

“Yeah, I guess you’ve got a different perspective on that,” Bucky said.

“Well, maybe we can do some of that, summer concert series or whatever,” Tony mused.

Bucky wondered if he should be worried, Tony already making assumptions and plans of future dates, as if there’d be a relationship come summer, or if he wouldn’t already be bored and moved on to the next bigger, better thing. But Tony’s hand was warm and firm under Bucky’s palm, and making plans wasn’t scary at all.

It was… nice.

Bucky smiled, and decided he was just going to let it be _nice_ , until something happened.

***

There were enough of DCs movers and shakers at Peggy’s recommended breakfast stop that they didn’t get out unscathed.

Two senators, a congresswoman, a judge, and a newscaster all recognized Tony, but aside from the newscaster giving Tony her card for later, which Bucky watched him deliberately put the card under the stack of breakfast plates that the waitress was taking away with the skilled deftness of a state magician, no one really did anything aside from chat, a little.

Nothing that wouldn’t have happened in Brooklyn, if Bucky had been out on a date and run into some of his friends. Maybe even a little less embarrassing, because Clint would have followed Bucky and Tony for at least a block, singing _That’s Amore_ in his terrible Italian accent and getting more than half the words wrong.

But it was a little weird and awkward, especially when people looked at Bucky like they were expecting him to be someone. Important or influential, or even just interesting. And he wasn’t. He was working on his graduate studies. He managed to talk about it, though, a little, what he was studying and that he was down in DC for the technical conference. Tony backed him up a little and Bucky appreciated that.

“Imagine my surprise, when I found out Bucky was staying at the same hotel,” Tony said, smiling fondly. “We’ve known each other a while, you know, just sort of teleconferencing and bouncing off each other, so, I had to take advantage of the opportunity.”

Which somehow made Bucky feel even worse, like Tony was lying or something, although technically none of it was _untrue_ , precisely.

“You don’t have to do that,” Bucky said, when the last of the congress critters had shaken both of their hands and wandered back to whatever she did after breakfast.

“What? It’s called controlling the spin, honey,” Tony said. “Like, these stupid little conversations, they’re always an elevator pitch, about everything. No elevators necessary. Like, your CV or something. Everything is life experience, everything is impressive if you just say it formal enough and look like you know what you’re talking about. Even when you don’t. Maybe even especially when you don’t.”

“They’re gonna find out, eventually,” Bucky said, staring at the bottom of his empty coffee mug.

“I’m not ashamed of you,” Tony told him, very seriously. “And I’m certainly not ashamed of myself. I am completely without shame, anybody can tell you. If it comes out, it comes out. I’m not going to drop you, or make excuses, or deny anything. You’re my friend, and I want to date you, and I don’t give a flying fuck who knows it. I know… all this. That can be overwhelming, and I can’t make it go away. It’s part of the package. You’re dating me. Nothing will ever be okay again.” And Tony’s mouth did this thing, before he got his smile back in place, and Bucky didn’t even think about it, he just leaned in and kissed the side of Tony’s mouth, a light peck, barely a public display of affection.

Futurist, Bucky thought. Tony was still thinking forward, more than one date, going to New Orleans, weathering the press storm _together_. “You’re right,” Bucky said. He ran his finger down Tony’s jaw, along the soft lower lip. “I _am_ dating you. And that makes this worth it.”

“Yeah?” Tony was smiling again, his real smile.

“Mr. Stark, sir?” A voice said, and Tony didn’t even take his attention off Bucky to look around.

“What is it, Happy? Happy, this is Bucky, my date. Buck, this is Happy, my forehead of security.”

“The package you asked for,” Happy said, putting a courier envelope on the table.

“Oh, thank you,” Tony said. “Here, this is for you.” And he pushed the manilla envelope across to Bucky.

Bucky’s eyebrow went up, but he untangled his fingers from Tony’s to open it. It wasn’t a paper -- or, god forbid, a non-disclosure agreement or anything creepy like that -- and he shook it out onto the table.

A glitter of silver winked at him through a plastic baggie.

“What--”

“I got some interesting video footage on my phone,” Tony explained, cautiously. “And I might have made some more inquiries of your friend, while I was waiting. So, I just…”

Bucky spilled the anklet out on the table, the weight saying it was probably not silver, but white gold, or even platinum. A blue gem glowed through the casing. He stared at it for a moment, then looked up at Tony. “This is too much,” he said.

“Well, I can save it for a later date,” Tony said, “if it’ll make you more comfortable. But I gotta say, I always liked the idea of you wearing it. Joke, or not.”

Bucky ran his finger over the tiny arc-reactor pendant. The detail work was amazing, and the stone inside cut to reflect maximum brilliance. It almost seemed to glow on its own.

“Sure, okay,” he said.

Tony patted his own thigh. “Kick your foot up here, I’ll clip it on for you.”

There was something intimate and sweet about Tony pushing up the cuff of his jeans and fastening the chain around his leg. Tony took a liberty and brushed his finger against Bucky’s bare ankle, sending a shiver up Bucky’s spine that made his stomach clench and his mouth tremble. “Thank you.”

Tony patted Bucky’s calf affectionately. “You’re welcome.”

 


	6. Booty Call

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the smut chapter that everyone's been waiting for,
> 
> For the smut adverse, pretty much everything after the dancing is smut, and then the very end is the love declaration.  
> (also, now contains NSFW art at the bottom of the story!)

There were days that Bucky could forget that he was sort of, semi-seriously, decidedly exclusively, dating _Tony Stark_.

Sort of, in that they’d gone on dates. Several dates. Okay, six, if Bucky was being precise. A breakfast date -- but not that sort of breakfast date -- and walk. Two small concerts, held in seedy little bars with ten dollar cover charges and bad sound systems, but decent music, even if at one, the lead singer was so drunk that she sang laying down on the stage, her head hanging backward over the edge. One ridiculous date in which Tony had flown them down to New Orleans for a stroll through Jackson Square to look at street performers and they got an artist to do a sketch of them, and they’d eaten ridiculous food from a half dozen little restaurants that Tony knew, and ended the evening necking in one of the graveyards. An actual Tony Stark date out to a pricey place in Manhattan and they’d ended up having to run the gauntlet of reporters trying to get a quote and cameramen trying to get a picture.

And tonight.

An evening of Netflix and Chill, except that it was Tony, and there was no chill involved in Bucky turning up at Stark Tower.

He’d already been given a pass to Tony’s private elevator and security had been told he was expected.

But that didn’t mean Bucky was chill with any of this.

And it was damn hard to forget that his -- boyfriend? -- was Tony Stark when he was welcomed into Tony’s penthouse.

For something so neat and clean -- there wasn’t a speck of dust to be found, nor empty plates, forgotten mugs, not even a stray magazine -- it was astonishing how much Tony’s den looked like a mechanics shop. It had a weird retro feel that reminded Bucky somewhat of his father’s office down at the garage.

A lot of shiny metal surfaces, surrounded by the glow of natural wood. The rug was thick, shaggy, and a shade of russian jade that shouldn’t have looked good, but did. The sunken pit where the sofas and chairs were could have seated a good twenty people without crowding, and the movie screen at least twice as big as the largest television Bucky had ever seen.

“You want a drink?” Tony offered, standing near an actual damn bar, the mirror and glass shelving glittering under subdued lighting.

“Hell of a party space you got here,” Bucky commented. “B&B on ice?”

“Yeah, I don’t do so much of that, anymore,” Tony said. “Party, I mean. One too many hits with the snake. Spies, you know.”

Tony pulled out two bottles. Bucky’s eyebrows went up. When he got B&B at a bar, it was a pre-mixed. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen benedictine on its own. “Can’t say spies are a problem that I have. Unless you count cheaters during exams.”

“‘Bout the same morals,” Tony said. He dumped two shots of benedictine in the bottom and used a long handled barspoon to gently float the brandy. “Less bullets.”

Tony rattled the glass and put it on the bar, sliding it down the few inches to where Bucky was leaning. “You ever decide you want to give up entrepreneurial shit, you could get a job as a bartender,” Bucky offered.

Tony laughed. “That’d make a hell of a summer job, right? Go down to some little island and do the cocktail wizard thing, for tips? Hot summer nights and long, lazy mornings. I could see it.”

Bucky could, too. Suddenly picturing a naked Tony sprawled on his belly in a huge bed with white linen sheets tucked around his hips. Waking up with soft kisses and nuzzles, rolling over to straddle Bucky’s hips. Damn, Bucky needed to get his runaway brain under control. The imagination that served him well as a phone sex operator was going full tilt.

Tony studied Bucky over the rim of his glass. Scotch, probably. Bucky didn’t mind the taste on Tony’s lips, but scotch always tasted like licking moss, as far as Bucky was concerned. “What are you thinking?”

“I… uh, don’t know, really,” Bucky said. “You know how it gets, fluff in your head, and you go from thinking about what whiskey tastes like and then you’re remembering getting into a spitball fight in fifth grade and suddenly you find yourself wondering--” _what it would be like to wake up next to you in the morning._ Bucky felt his neck heat.

Bucky hadn’t made a move; he’d allowed some kissing, and one extremely arousing session of grinding against each other on the dance floor at one of the concerts. They’d passed the requisite third date (and the trip to New Orleans!) without Tony saying a word.

They were now almost two months into whatever this was.

Bucky’d gone back to his phone job; with nothing else to do during the workday, and no money or experience coming in from Hammer’s internship, Bucky was at a loss as to what he was supposed to do now.

Every time he answered the phone, he was losing some of his certainty. He did his job, and some sort of worth ethic kept him from doing a bad job of it. But there was guilt -- what was he doing with Tony.

And then Tony kept not coming on to him, which started making him wonder what Tony was doing with him.

Tony nudged them gently into the seating pit. He selected a three person sofa, and Bucky found himself perched on the other side, with room for a whole other person in between. Tony flicked on the television. He pulled up a long menu -- Bucky glanced at it a few times, deciding that it was a list of all the movies Tony had access to in some obscure sort of order. It took him a few minutes to realize they were organized by genre, and then alphabetical by studio, which was an odd way to sort movies, but Tony’s memory was better than Bucky’s.

“What do you want to watch?” Tony asked.

There were way too many options. “What’s your favorite movie to show someone?” Bucky asked. “Not your favorite one to watch, but the one you like to see someone else watch, for the first time?”

Tony studied his face for a long moment. “I am going to trust you with a deep, dark secret,” he said, thumbing through the list.

“ _Labyrinth_?” Bucky was incredulous.

“You have something against muppets? Or David Bowie?”

Bucky snorted. “When I was fourteen, I woulda _liked_ to have something against David Bowie, like fourteen year old bisexual me.”

“I think a whole generation of people discovered their sexual awakening during ‘Magic Dance,’” Tony agreed.

Bucky finished off his drink, relishing the sweet aftertaste of brandy on his tongue. Armed with a little bit of liquid courage, he scooched over to the center cushion and leaned against Tony. “This is one of my favorite movies,” he said.

“If you tell me the other one is _Fifth Element_ , I may propose on the spot,” Tony warned him.

“Eh, that one’s okay, but if you want to talk about outrageously over the top scifi, _Jupiter Ascending_ is pretty awesome,” Bucky said. He was such a liar. First time he’d seen Fifth Element -- he’d missed it in theaters, but he’d rented it -- he’d enjoyed it so much that he’d called Steve and Clint to come over and watch it with him a second time.

They bickered about movies and good science fiction through most of the opening credits. _District Nine_ over _Contact_ versus terrible movies with great concepts ( _Prince of Darkness_ versus _Solaris_ ) and both mourned about how much they’d wanted to like the Star Wars prequels and just didn’t. Nostalgia could only carry a bad script so far.

They only stopped arguing when Bowie came on screen for the first time, and then Bucky snuggled against Tony’s side, and Tony put his feet up over Bucky’s knees. He threaded his fingers into Bucky’s hair and Bucky found himself running his thumb over Tony’s bare ankle.

It wasn’t until they got to the peach scene, where Sarah ended up dreaming about the mascarade that Bucky drew back and stared at Tony. “Oh, you are such a big faker,” he exclaimed, snatching up one of the small throw pillows and whapping Tony’s shoulder with it. “You wanted to dance at a masked ball? Oh, my _god_ , you Jim Henson knockoff.”

“You--” Tony’s eyes got huge and wide, almost glowing in the dim lighting. “You remember that.”

“Of _course_ I remember that,” Bucky said, smacking him again, while Sarah and Jareth whirled together to _As the World Falls Down_.

“No, really, I--” Tony’s mouth was slightly open, lips trembling. His tongue darted out to wet the lower lip. “It… uh… you _remembered_.”

“Yes,” Bucky said. He struggled to his feet and offered Tony a hand. “Dance with me?”

The music was slow and sweet, Sarah searching for her goblin lover, and Tony took his hand and Bucky moved them into a simple waltz, Tony swaying gracefully in his arms as they moved around and around the tables and chairs.

Bucky pulled him in, closer, feeling the heat of Tony’s body, the way he was shaking under Bucky’s hands.

 _As the pain sweeps through,_  
_Makes no sense for you_  
_Every thrill is gone_  
_Wasn't too much fun at all,_  
_But I'll be there for you-ou-ou_  
_As the world falls down_

Tony was singing, soft, in Bucky’s ear while they moved, and when Sarah took her running charge at the glass, Bucky stopped spinning. He took Tony’s chin, tipped it up, and kissed him.

It wasn’t the first time they’d kissed; but somehow it all felt new, all over again. Tony was standing on tiptoe to reach Bucky’s mouth, arms hanging around Bucky’s neck to pull him down. He was warm and hard and long lines against Bucky’s body.

Bucky looked down to meet Tony’s brown eyes, wide and warm and looking at him with some emotion that Bucky wasn’t sure how to name. Maybe because Tony didn’t know what it was, either. “Think I promised you a blow job, after our dance,” Bucky said, his voice dropping into that husky, seductive purr.

“Oh, don’t do that, honey,” Tony said, and he was shivering. “You use your phone voice on me and I’m not going to be able to resist. I swear, I get hard every time--”

Bucky’s skin rippled with sudden longing, the heady feel of desire, sweet torture. The ache for another human being, not just anyone, but Tony, in his arms. In his bed. Under him. “You don’t have to resist nothin’, doll,” Bucky told him.

“You’re wrong,” Tony said. “I have to resist all of it.”

Bucky drew back a little, startled. “You don’t… don’t want to?”

“Don’t be hard-headed,” Tony said. “You know I want to. Look, we knew this was going to be weird, and-- I want you. But more than that, I want you to be sure. That this is… us. Not a job, not some crazy fling, not… gratitude for the shit with Hammer. I don’t want to risk losing you because I don’t have any patience. It’s not just that I want you -- because I do, I swear, it burns me up every single night -- but that _I like you_. You know that, right?”

Bucky hadn’t known. Not really. Not until that very second had he even realized, had he even admitted that it was why he hadn’t made a move on Tony at all. That he was scared that as soon as Tony got what Bucky thought he wanted -- the phone sex whore -- that it would be over. That he was waiting for Tony to make the moves, because then maybe he’d know what it was that Tony wanted.

But now… it was different. Tony was different. It wasn’t just that he was handsome and rich and charming, ridiculous and completely nerdy. It wasn’t the tight fit of Tony’s trousers or the peatmoss flavor of his mouth. It was him. Bucky wanted him. All of him. He wanted whatever it was that made Tony stay up late in his workshop, wanted to look at him over his mug of coffee in the morning. Wanted that razor-sharp intellect, that little sousicent smirk. Bucky wanted the fire behind Tony’s eyes and he wanted the taste of Tony’s lips, and yes, he wanted Tony under him, around him, on top of him. In every single way possible.

“I know,” Bucky said. “I am going to kiss you--” and his voice dropped back into that rumble “--and then I’m going to go on my knees on this ridiculous carpet of yours and I’m going to strip you out of those pants and taste you. So, if you have an objection to that, you might want to say so.”

“No, no objections,” Tony said, and his eyes were wide and whiskey dark and achingly tender.

“Good,” Bucky said. And he kissed Tony, the first brush of his mouth gentle, nothing more than a press of his lip against Tony, tipping his head to one side, feeling the rush of air against his cheek.

“ _Bucky…_ ”

And that was his undoing. Tony wanted him, not Jaime, not the phone sex boy, but the real man, in front of him. Tony knew who Bucky was, knew all of that and wanted him anyway. Bucky kissed him again, hungry for Tony’s taste. Tony’s hands were in his hair, soft sounds in his ear. Caution slipped its leash, and Bucky would have offered everything he was, if he’d even known how. He took one more sampling of Tony’s mouth and then went to his knees.

Tony was hard behind the zipper of his slacks and Bucky rubbed his cheek against it. His body, already tingling with need, grew impossibly hard and it was all he could do to keep it slow and gentle, not wrenching Tony’s pants open. He slid the belt from its loops, tossed the leather side. Undid the button, the zipper. Tony’s hands were on his shoulders, holding himself up.

“Oh, god,” Tony murmured. Bucky peeled the pants down, hooked the drawers with them. In a word, they probably looked ridiculous, Tony with his shirt loose around his hips, his cock hard and protruding at the linen, Bucky on his knees, fully dressed. But when Bucky tipped his chin up to check Tony’s expression, he’d never seen anything quite so luminous.

The carpet was nice and thick under his knees, and Tony was gorgeous in his want. Bucky gave a out a soft sigh, the only warning he gave Tony, then nuzzled at him, taking a lick of that magnificent dick, a proud, dark curve against Tony’s belly. His hands went over that perfect ass, drawing Tony closer to him.

He leaned in, licking and lipping down Tony’s length, enjoying the feel of dick against his mouth. It’d been a while since Bucky had taken a real lover, a long while since he’d had any satisfaction beyond listening to someone use their hand. He almost wished he could talk while he was giving head, tell Tony how much he wanted this, how much he loved it.

Tony was shivering minutely, his head tipped back as he breathed. His thighs quivered and Bucky gripped harder. Took Tony’s cock into his mouth, turned his chin. His mouth flooded with saliva, getting Tony good and wet. Let Tony thrust, soft and easy, into his mouth. Bucky’s hands explored Tony’s ass -- could it even look as good as it felt? Bucky thought the answer was probably yes. It looked damn good in his pants, and nothing appeared to be padded. God, Bucky was the luckiest bastard alive, having every bit of this man.

He sucked Tony back, took as much as he could. Bobbed his head eagerly, drinking in the musky taste of Tony’s skin, the wanton sounds he was making. Each time Tony pushed in a little further, a little harder, more reckless and more desiring. Bucky’s fingers tightened on those perfect asscheeks.

God, he wanted to take a bite of those, just like a peach.

He wanted to get his dick slick with lube and just rub one out between Tony’s cheeks, with Tony bent over a chair or spread out on the table, pushing back into him. He tugged his mouth off Tony’s cock, ignoring the little moan of dismay Tony made. “Want you,” he told Tony, tipping his head to look up. God, Bucky was hard, so impossibly hard. He was going to embarrass himself by coming impossibly quickly, if he didn’t back down a bit.

“Well, that’s reassuring,” Tony said. “I’d hate to think you were bored.”

Bucky couldn’t help but laugh at that, giggling against Tony’s thigh. “Not th’ least bit bored,” Bucky promised.

Tony’s hands were in Bucky’s hair again, petting him restlessly, as if Tony needed that contact as much as Bucky did. “So, uh, how did you-- I mean, much as I’m enjoying this, I want our first time to be a mutual sort of experience.”

“Yeah?” Bucky twisted and clambered to his feet. “Gotta say, I’m diggin’ the dishevelled look.” He leaned in, bit Tony’s earlobe, then worked it with his tongue. “You want me to fuck you, baby? Say that’s what you want. Want that glorious ass of yours in my lap, want you t’ ride me. Wanna be able to watch your face when you come. Been thinkin’ about it for months, how you gotta look, how you cry out so sweet.”

Tony uttered a strangled groan, his whole weight coming down against Bucky’s chest. “Jesus, you are a menace, you are going to kill me dead, that’s a fact, that is a scientific fact. Bucky, my Christ, you are a _health hazard_.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Okay, yes, yes, that sounds good,” Tony said. He was panting for breath, his chest heaving. His cheeks were dusky, blushing. Not embarrassment, Bucky thought, but straight up desire. “I’ve… uh, got stuff in my jacket--” And then he almost fell over, forgetting that his pants were still around his ankles, and that dark blush turned even redder and Bucky had to kiss that wobbling, uncertain mouth until Tony was clinging to him, helplessly moaning.

“I’ll get it,” Bucky told him.

Tony grumbled and stepped out of one pants leg. Bucky fetched the jacket, patting down the pockets until he found what he was looking for, an actual leather billfold with a couple condoms and a dozen packets of lube. “Boy scout,” Bucky accused him, fondly. He almost dropped it entirely, when he turned. Tony had peeled out of the trousers, but the shirt was still on, unbuttoned, and he still had his socks on.

Which might have been enough, just the disheveled look was amazing, but he’d turned and was bent over, hands splayed on the couch, ass high and on display, legs spread.

_I’m a health hazard?_

Tony cast a come-hither look over one shoulder, and Bucky didn’t think he could possibly do anything else except go thither.

It wasn’t until he actually got over there, positioned himself between Tony’s thighs, and flipped the shirt up so he could actually get a look at Tony’s ass, that Bucky realized that Tony had set them up right in front of the mirror. “Oh, you are dirty,” Bucky told him, meeting Tony’s gaze in the mirror.

“Come on, everyone knows I’m a narcissist,” Tony said. “Mirror makes it easier for me to see everything you’re doing to me.”

“You’re no more a narcissist than I am a whore, Tony,” Bucky told him. “We don’t have to be who other people define us.”

Tony inhaled and was probably going to protest or something equally stupid, so Bucky took his mind off it. He traced a circle around Tony’s hole, feeling that taut, puckered skin. Tony let loose that breath with a rush. Met Tony’s eyes in the mirror again, held his gaze. Kept his hand moving, teasing and tempting, pressing and testing the muscle’s resistance.

“You are so fucking beautiful,” Bucky said, like maybe Tony didn’t know that. Of course he did, six in America’s top ten sexiest men. “Not just your pretty face, but as a human being. You’re sweet, an’ generous, an’ ridiculous.” _And I think I might love you._

“You going to fuck me, or compliment me into an orgasm?” Tony’s voice cracked a little, and Bucky’s heart gave a squeeze.

“Gonna make you feel so good, baby,” Bucky said. He took a moment to peel his shirt off, stepped out of his jeans and kicked his underwear to one side. He opened one of the lube packets with his teeth and poured a drizzle over Tony’s crack.

Tony wriggled, his legs flexing, one and then the other, his ass perky and adorable. “You already do,” Tony said, “so, like, let’s get this show on the road. Skip to the end, get to the goods. You don’t have to be all… Jamie for me.”

“I ain’t,” Bucky told him, not speeding up even a little, wanting it to be good and perfecting, wanting Tony to relax, not just accept discomfort with an orgasm in mind. “I ain’t Jamie, with a client. This is just Bucky, wanting to make Tony feel good. So--” he bent over Tony’s back, pushing against him, letting one finger breach “--just let me.”

Tony sucked in another breath, clenched around his finger. “Yeah, okay, honey.”

And then it was just bodies, and Tony writhing under him, and the way Tony couldn’t seem to look away, watching the way they moved in the mirror. Bucky played him out like an instrument, twisting his wrist, prodding and pulling lightly against the muscle until it opened and let him in. Two fingers in and he was licking at Tony’s spine, enjoying the salt and tang of his skin. He got a hand in Tony’s hair, short as it was, and tugged his head back. Bucky was sweet and gentle, and at the same time, it was so utterly filthy, wicked, and cruel that Bucky didn’t want it to ever end. Wanted to finger Tony open and stroke him until he came, untouched, messed up that thousand dollar sofa and went to his knees in a puddle of his own come, completely hedonistic and wanton.

And at the same time, he couldn’t imagine anything more perfect than finding himself buried in Tony’s body, feeling the heat and velvet of the man.

Finally, he pulled his fingers free, ignoring Tony’s protest, the way he squeezed at Bucky’s fingers. “I got you, honey,” Bucky told him. He worked a little more lube in, then got the condom out. It took him a few attempts to get it on, slick as his hands were, shaking as he was.

He lifted up onto his toes, pushed one hand down at the base of Tony’s spine to hold him still. Settled the head of his cock against Tony’s entrance, fluttering and eager and open and deliciously pink. Pushed himself in, one fragile, urgent inch.

Tony gasped his name, and Bucky cried out, almost lost himself right there, barely past the entrance. His fingers clenched on Tony’s hips, and then, unable to keep it slow, or gentle, pushed himself in, plunged forward until he was buried to the hilt. And maybe he should have stopped there, checked in, let Tony adjust to him. He knew that he was big, that he was too rough, but when Tony cried out again, it wasn’t to stop. It wasn’t even Bucky’s name.

What he said was, “god, _more_.”

He clenched Tony’s thighs, spread his legs a little more, tilted Tony a little to give himself an easier entry, and let himself give Tony more. He fucked into Tony’s warm, willing body, feeling the muscles flutter and clench around him. Hot and greedy, he worked his hips, losing himself in it, the rough and ready rhythm that they had. Tony pushed back into him, hard, and their bodies smacking together sounded like someone clapping. Bucky’s skin ran hot and cold.

Tony was practically sobbing with each breath, begging for more, harder, _Bucky, please_.

It was the sweetest sound Bucky had ever heard. He reached around, grabbed hold of Tony’s rather splendid dick and stroked it, tugging in time with his thrusts. Tony wailed, every muscle in his body going stiff. He pushed backward into Bucky, impaling himself on Bucky’s cock, threw his head back, and came. Shuddering and groaning, he spilled over Bucky’s hand, soaking the tail end of his shirt, dripping onto the carpet, the sofa.

Bucky had reached his limit as Tony clenched down on him, hard and tight, a delicious squeeze. He shouted, his fingers biting into Tony’s hip as he plunged in, shattering into a million little pieces.

“Oh, god,” Bucky murmured. He hissed, grabbed hold of the condom, and pulled out. “I messed up your couch.” Which was totally what he meant to do, honestly, but he sort of felt like he ought to apologize for it anyway. He tied the condom off, and, not entirely sure what to do with it, just dropped it on top of his jeans. He’d get it later.

“Yes, yes you did, good job,” Tony said, and his voice wasn’t even the slightest bit upset. He turned in Bucky’s arms, as wobbly as a newborn colt and kissed Bucky’s mouth. “I approve. We should definitely do that again. Not right now, though, because I think I’ve mentioned the whole some of us are old thing, right?” Despite that, Tony was talking a mile a minute, and Bucky was almost at a loss.

“You okay, baby?” Bucky asked him. He pulled Tony up against his chest, kissed him again, and then again, trying to figure out if he’d done something wrong, because Tony was suddenly acting very… jittery.

“Yes, fantastic, why shouldn’t I be, that was amazing and--”

“Tony.”

“Okay, look, I’m… just…” Tony was shivering, and Bucky tugged him even closer, pulling the shirt closed and rubbing up and down Tony’s arms, like maybe he was cold. “I didn’t expect…”

Bucky’s stomach dropped several inches. “You didn’t enjoy it? I ain’t fishin’ for compliments, baby, but what did I do wrong?”

“That-- that right there,” Tony said, poking Bucky in the chest with one finger. “You. You’re… too much. Too nice. I’m not enough, I’m feeling-- I… of course I enjoyed it, oh my god, did you like miss that part or something?”

“Baby?”

Tony made an inarticulate noise and buried his face against Bucky’s chest. “Old man, remember? Having post-coital nerves or something. Like, being stupid, I’m sorry. I just--”

“Tony, look at me, baby, would you please?”

Tony’s eyes were wide and wet and that emotion was right back where Bucky had seen it before. This time, though, he was pretty sure he knew what it was, because he’d seen it. In the mirror.

“What?”

“It’s okay,” Bucky told him. “I… uh… I know what you’re…” He took Tony’s hand and put it right over his heart. “Hurts a little bit, doesn’t it? Right here? Because you feel so much, and you’re not sure what to do with it.”

Tony nodded. “What… what do I do?”

Bucky drew him in for a kiss. “You love me. That’s what you do. Love me right back, baby, as hard as you can.”

“You love me?” And that _ached_ , the way Tony said it, like he wanted to believe it so desperately and didn’t know if he could.

“Yeah. Yeah, I do,” Bucky said, letting himself feel it. Letting himself recognize it for what it was. “I love you.”

“Oh, thank god,” Tony said, and he hugged Bucky tight. “I do, I love you, love you, oh god, this is ridiculous.”

“I think it’s kinda wonderful, myself.”

“Sap,” Tony accused him, as if Tony wasn’t practically crying with relief.

“Only for you.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> now with art from the lovely [l'aterlier d'eriot](http://latelierderiot.tumblr.com/post/177218992079/fanfic-writers-appreciation-day)


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